


The Measure of a Man

by Beyla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Mycroft, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kidfic, M/M, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Unexpected Parenting, eventual Mystrade, not mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beyla/pseuds/Beyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” - Martin Luther King Jr.</p><p>After a chance meeting with a young child at a crime scene, Mycroft Holmes must reassess the very things he holds dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There it was again. Improbable, yes, but he definitely heard it this time. There was no mistake…the alleyway just _sniffled_ at him. Obviously, it was not the alleyway, per se, but rather something inside it, which was making a quiet, distinctly moist, sniffling sound. Pointedly.

Rocking back slightly on his heels, Mycroft tapped his umbrella against the ground firmly, the click of the metal tip resonating against the pavement and ricocheting into the alleyway as a response.

_Sniff_

_Tap_

Mycroft Holmes was an infinitely patient man. When your days were filled with manipulating self-important politicians to convince them that your ideas, were in fact, theirs to begin with, one learned the merits of waiting. That being the case, Mycroft glanced nonchalantly at his fingernails, brushing his thumb across his knuckles, before returning his gaze to the activity of the crime scene before him. And then…he waited.

_Sniff_

_Tap_

A small, satisfied quirk of the lips. A turn of the umbrella in his hands, the twisting motion barely visible against the darkness of the street.

_Sniff_

“You do know, my dear child, that if you would remove yourself from behind that filthy skip, you could avail yourself of my handkerchief and cease that dreadful noise.”

Reaching into his right breast pocket, Mycroft removed his white pocket square, shook it once, and held it out casually to his left side, never shifting his body or his gaze to see if his quarry was doing as it was told.

A smug smile settled on his features as he heard a subtle shuffling behind him.  Cautious, darting steps approached from behind his right shoulder and then came to a stop approximately 3 meters behind him.

_Sniff._

Mycroft waved the handkerchief slowly, both a reminder of its availability and as a sign that he meant no harm. The scurrying steps resumed and a slight tug relieved the cloth from his hand, before retreating to their location just behind him.

Again, Mycroft waited. He had already determined that his sniffling companion was approximately 5 to 7 years in age, female, and that her apparent excess of mucus was due to tears rather than illness. Additionally, her distinct lack of adult supervision, as well as her chosen hiding spot, led him to believe that she was likely the child of the unfortunate couple that the officers of Scotland Yard, his wayward brother, and his stalwart flatmate were attending to. Despite this information, it was obvious that the girl was not overly trusting and it would not benefit him to push their tentative tête-à-tête toward a conclusion on his own terms. Patience, again, a virtue.

Slowly, his companion backed further from him, settling herself into the comfort of a dark shadow cast across the curb near the alleyway that had initially become her sanctuary. As she sat down, tucking her knees up to her chest, Mycroft hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder. The sight he was met with caused his heart to lurch painfully in his chest. She was tiny. A waif of a thing, with unruly dark curls falling over her shoulders, and wrapped in a thin pink nightgown. Her bare feet and tear-stained face completed her urchin-like countenance, briefly bringing to mind a very young Sherlock. And, just as his younger brother would have done, she met his gaze with watery eyes and a defiant jut of her jaw.

Mycroft smiled slightly despite himself. Trusting that she was not going to startle and dash back into the alley, he moved slowly toward her, projecting an unaffected air that would indicate to any passerby that having non-verbal conversations with young children in the middle of the night was a commonplace occurrence for him. Upon reaching the curb, he again turned toward the crime scene in order to lessen the degree of intimidation she might be feeling. An odd turn of events, surely; Mycroft was a man whom intimidated people for a living, yet he found himself desperately wanting to avoid intimidating the child.

“Might I be of some sort of assistance?” he questioned in a soft voice, as though the answer wasn’t obvious.

“You’re too tall.”

The unexpected response made him pause, trying to work out exactly how his height effected his offer of assistance. After a moment of reflection, he simply accepted the fact that there was painfully little logic behind her argument.

“My height falls well within the normal range given our geographical location, however, that does not answer the question I posed. I repeat, might I be of some sort of assistance?”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re all tall like that. It makes my neck hurt. You need to come down here.”

Ah. There it was. Logic did seem to play a role in the original response, however, as he was not well acquainted with the logic of a child, he had missed it entirely. Frustrating that.

Looking down at the curb where the child was perched, Mycroft sighed and resigned himself to having to purchase a new pair of trousers. Inevitably, the dirt they would acquire when he joined his young charge, would do irreversible damage to the wool. Still, with no other option readily available, he curled himself down to sit beside her with more grace than his frame would belie.

“That’s better. Now we can talk without being all hurty.”

“Indeed.”

“They told me not to talk to strangers.”

“Sound advice, though the sentiment is a bit overdue.”

When there was no response, Mycroft glanced down to see two dark eyes staring back at him with an expression that could only be described as annoyed confusion.

He sighed. Children…  

“We are already talking.” He clarified.

“You started it.”

“True. Perhaps then, we could remedy the fact that we are strangers? What is your name my dear?”

“You first.”

He barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes. His initial comparison to his younger brother was becoming more and more apt as his interaction with the child continued.

“My name is Mycroft.”

“That’s weird.”

“I certainly did not choose it. My parents were, for lack of a better word, unique.”

“Weird mum and dad too, huh?”

Mycroft huffed in annoyance. “Your name is so much better then?”

“My name is Claire. That’s better than Mycroff.”

“It is Mycroft” he replied, clipping the final consonant forcefully. “But you are indeed correct. Claire is a much better name than mine.”

“It would be silly if your name was Claire. Even if your mum and dad are weird. You should keep Mycroft.” Her over-enunciation of the “t” made him smile even though it was done in open mimicry of his previous volley.

“Indeed it would. So, now that we are no longer strangers, having completed the necessary introductions, could you tell me more about what occurred this evening?”

“You use too many big words. I’m five. I don’t know many big words. You are too tall and too big wordy, and you have a weird name.” The defiant jut of the jaw was back and Claire’s fingers started twisting in the pink cotton of her nightgown.

“An astute summary of what has transpired thus far. However, that is not the answer I was looking for.” He paused, adjusting his vocabulary to better suit his audience. “Claire, please tell me what happened tonight? What happened to you?”

Claire looked up at him, her eyes losing the defiance and suddenly filling with tears. As her cheeks flushed, she looked quickly at her feet, blinking furiously. The sniffles started anew.

Mycroft knew very little about comforting children. He had not had to interact with a child in any manner more significant than passing disdain since before he went away to school when Sherlock was a boy. Still, he felt as though he should do something to provide a measure of solace. He did, after all, “start it.” Taking a steadying breath, he reached out his left hand and laid it gently on Claire’s shoulder.

A shuddering breath rocked her tiny frame and she sniffed loudly once more. When she spoke, it was so quiet that Mycroft nearly missed it altogether.

“I don’t wanna say.” She whispered.

“Please, Claire? I know that you are frightened, child, but I can assure you that you have no need to be. Not anymore. I will not let any harm come to you.” Mycroft smiled gently when she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. He let Claire look at him for long moments, allowing her to assess the honesty in his statement without bandying more words about trying to convince her. She nodded slowly and shifted slightly closer to him.

“I don’t know too much,” she revealed quietly, “I just remember a two loud noises and then lots and lots of red. I was scared. I ran away and I hid and I tried to be small so no one would find me.” The final sentence came out in a rush and then it would seem that even that simple confession was too much for her, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks freely.

Mycroft wrapped his long arm around her shoulders without thinking, pulling her small body against his hip. She buried her head into his ribs as Mycroft began stoking her hair. Small shaking fingers twisted into his waistcoat as he began a quiet litany of soothing words. It was enough. There would be no more questions tonight.

  
____________________________________________________________________  
  


 

These were the cases that got under Greg Lestrade’s skin. He had spent years on the force, working his way up from a beat cop to a Detective Inspector. He had seen his share of blood, gore, jealousy, passion, and of course, murder. It had become commonplace. That’s not to say that he stopped caring. Of course not. If he didn’t care, he would be as good of a DI. But cases like this, mother and father shot in their beds and then carved up in what looked to be a fit of rage, left him cold and shaken to the core.

It was bad enough that he had two bodies and an overeager Consulting Detective to contend with, but now it appeared that the couple’s child was missing as well. It was obvious that she had been in the house when the murders occurred; her bed was still a tangle of blankets and Sherlock had noticed the slight foot prints left in the rug just outside her parents door. Likely that she saw the whole thing, he mused. But after he had his officers search the entire scene it didn’t appear as though she had been abducted, but nonetheless, it was dishearteningly apparent that she was no longer in the flat.

While Sherlock and John finished with their observations, Greg stepped outside to call in a missing persons report on the child. Aside from the photo he found of a small, dark haired girl, the only other information he had about her was gleaned from a drawing of a lop-sided horse that was tacked onto the refrigerator and proudly labeled with shaky letters, Claire Willoughby Age 5. Still, the report needed to be filed as soon as possible, and it was enough to go on for the moment. Maybe Sherlock could give him more information when he came out…

What he wasn’t expecting to see upon exiting the house was one Mycroft Holmes, aloof government official and sometimes kidnapper, sitting on the curb across from his crime scene. The shadow from the building across the way partially obscured Mycroft’s left side, but Greg could see that there was a dark something sitting on the ground next to him. As he approached, it became apparent that the dark shape wasn’t a _something_ but a _someone_. When that realization struck, he stopped dead in his tracks from shock. Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, was sitting there in a three-piece suit, in the dirt, with his arms wrapped around a sobbing child. Shocked didn’t even begin to cover it.

Mycroft didn’t hear the DI approach, too wrapped up in trying to calm Claire down enough that she could breathe without the sobbing hiccoughs wracking her small frame. He simply kept his cheekbone pressed to the top of her head, eyes closed, and continued to run his fingers through her hair while repeating variations of “Hush now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Claire’s sobs began to lessen and her breaths became deeper and more regular. She tried valiantly to sniffle, but her sinuses were full from her crying and she managed no more than a congested snort and a soft moan. Cupping her face in his hands, Mycroft ran his thumbs gently across her cheeks, wiping away tears and pressing out the creases at the corners of her eyes. He brushed her fringe back from her forehead with a quick swish of his hand and quickly assessed her red, blotchy face. It appeared that she was done crying, at least for the moment.

It was then that Mycroft also realized that they were no longer alone. Tucking Claire back against his side, he looked up to meet the DI’s concerned gaze.

“Detective Inspector,” he acknowledged, “I do believe that this is the child you were seeking when you left the crime scene.”

“Uh….yeah…right. Yes. Yes, I was looking for her. What in the world is she doing with you?!”

At Mycroft’s sharp glare, Greg quickly amended his statement. “I mean, first, why are you even here? This doesn’t have anything to do with the government. The victims were run of the mill workers, not even remotely associated with you or your whole secret squirrel empire. More importantly, where did you find her and what did you say to make her cry?”

Mycroft slowly rose to his feet, pulling Claire up to stand beside him. She attempted another aborted sniff and turned into his hip, burying her face and wrapping her arms firmly around his leg. Given the awkwardness of his stance, it was vaguely surprising to Greg that the man still managed to look imperious and foreboding. Mycroft reached down and pressed his long fingers to the back of her head, cradling her gently against him.

“As always, Detective Inspector, I am worried about my brother. This is the fourth case he has worked for you in the last six days. Given his penchant for refusing both rest and sustenance while he is working, I thought it would behoove me to look in on him to ensure his well-being.” Mycroft explained with a glare that made Greg take a slow step backwards.

“As for your implication that I do not possess even the most rudimentary of social skills, and would purposefully reduce a frightened child to tears, I am truly offended. Unlike my brother, I can and do interact with the general populous on a daily basis without incident.

The child, whose name is Claire, was hiding in the alleyway having obviously fled from the scene of a rather gruesome double homicide. It should not come as a surprise, even to you, that the tears she has shed were due to the resultant trauma. To put it in the simplest terms…She saw something horrible, got scared, and started to cry. I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

The iciness of Mycroft’s tone made Greg shudder. He had never given credence to Sherlock’s assertion that this brother was “the most dangerous man you will ever meet,” but now he was certainly rethinking his assessment.

“Mr. Holmes,” Greg began, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have accused you of upsetting the kid. I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see you with the little thing clinging to you like that. Sobbing no less. A bit out of the norm for people like you, don’t you think?”

“People like me?”

The tension between them was palpable. Even Claire was beginning to pick up on it and she pressed her face more firmly into Mycroft’s hip.

“Now calm down, I didn’t mean it like that.” Greg reasoned, lifting his hands in a placating manner. Backpedalling seemed to be his best option on this one.

“How did you mean it, exactly? What type of a person do you assume that I am incapable of behaving like, Detective Inspector?”

“Well…you know…fatherly, I guess.”

“I see,” came the response. Cold. Clipped. Dismissive.

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. Honestly. I just wanted to know where you found the kid, why she was crying, and what she said to you. That’s all. I’m just trying to do what’s right here and get her to a safe place.”

“I assure you, Detective Inspector, there are very few places in the world that are safer than where she is at this precise moment. However, in answer to the only question on the list that I have not provided elucidation for, she has said very little regarding the incidents of the evening. Claire has relayed that she heard two loud noises, gunshots I would imagine, and then saw a great deal of ‘red’, no doubt an apt descriptor for blood. At that point, she fled the scene, attired as you see before you, and took up temporary residence behind the large skip in the alleyway behind us.”

“Christ.” Greg groaned, rubbing his and across his face and then running his fingers through his hair. “No kid should have to see that.”

“That, Detective Inspector, is the one thing upon which you and I appear to be in complete agreement.”

One again bending down to inspect his young companion, Mycroft placed his hands gently on her shoulders, ducking his head in order to make eye contact with Claire.

“Now, my dear, how are you feeling?”

“I’m cold. My head hurts. And I want my teddy bear.” Claire answered exhaustion obvious on her small features.

“Well then, let us see what we can do to solve all that, shall we? First, you will take my jacket and we’ll see how that works to warm you up.” Mycroft said with a warm tone, quickly removing his suit coat and wrapping it around her shoulders. As he rolled up the sleeves to match the length of Claire’s tiny arms, he continued.

“As far as your head goes, I’m sure it is nothing that a good night sleep will not solve. I will do my best to secure you a place to rest momentarily. And in regards to your bear, perhaps the Detective Inspector here will return to your flat and see if he can find your plush friend.”  Mycroft looked up quickly, his sharp glare providing Greg absolutely no opportunity to disobey.

“Ah…yeah… sure…yeah, I’ll just pop back inside and see if I can’t find it. What does it look like?” Greg asked crouching down to Claire’s level but making no attempt to move any closer to her.

“He’s brown and fuzzy. You know…like a bear.” Claire responded with a roll of her eyes. “You do know what a bear looks like, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! I’ll just…right. I’ll just go see what I can find then.” Greg rose, shaking his head. Dismissed by a five year old. That was a new one.

As he walked back to the crime scene, Greg paused suddenly, struck by inspiration.

“Hey Claire?” he called, stopping to look over his shoulder, “What’s your bear’s name? I’m sure he’s smart enough not to wander off with strangers, so I want to make sure I introduce myself properly so he doesn’t get scared.”

“His name is Boris.” she called with a voice so small he had to strain to hear it.

When Greg gave her a thumbs-up and flashed a grin, he was rewarded with a tiny smile and an approving nod from Mycroft.


	2. Chapter 2

With a sigh, Mycroft initialed bottom of the report indicating his approval of the latest departmental budget. He had been reviewing expenditure reports, funding proposals, and operational strategies for the better part of the last three hours. And while it was a necessary evil, it was also mind-numbingly tedious.  These were the types of days that he hated; when the bureaucracy of his ‘minor government position’ made him desperately wish he had procured a job more like his younger brother’s. Sherlock certainly didn’t have to deal with tedium of paperwork, though he did have to do an objectionable amount of legwork.  If nothing else, the seemingly unending pile of paperwork did help to distract him from his musings over last night’s interaction with young Claire Willoughby.

Fortunately for the police, it was an open and shut case. Alexandra Milton, Claire’s foster mother, had made the poor choice of cheating on her husband, Charles, with a wholly unstable individual who thought the shortest path to revenge for the termination of their relationship was murder. A fact, Mycroft learned, was painfully obvious as an irate Sherlock nearly shouted it into the face of Inspector Lestrade as he returned to the house to look for the child’s stuffed bear. When Greg reminded Sherlock that he had never been formally consulted to review the crime scene in the first place, rather choosing to tag along when the call had come in, he was met with a stony glare and a rather pointed insult.

It was not until Sherlock turned toward the high street in order to flag down a cab that he paused in his verbal assault on the collective IQ of the entirety of the personnel employed by New Scotland Yard.  The sight of his brother, kneeling down in the gutter in front of a child who was incongruously wrapped in a suit jacket was enough to make Sherlock stop in his tracks so abruptly that John nearly walked into him.

The immediate cessation of yelling caused Mycroft to turn back toward the scene where he was met first by Sherlock’s fixed gaze and then by his raised eyebrow, neither of which unnerved Mycroft, nor made him feel that an explanation was in order. John, on the other hand, was performing a more than adequate impression of a fish, and stood open-mouthed beside Sherlock. After a few moments, John shook himself, and drew in a breath, but Sherlock stopped the litany of questions with a minute shake of his head. Mycroft acknowledged his brother’s uncharacteristic restraint with a slight smile and returned his attention to his young acquaintance.

Once Greg returned to Claire with Boris the bear, Mycroft’s own role in the proceedings was fairly minimal, aside from being a steady, calming presence for the child. Greg knelt down to Claire and handed her the bear, which she immediately snatched up and pressed against her neck, her knuckles going white from clutching it tightly. When she leaned again into Mycroft’s side seeking both warmth and comfort, he loosely wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Greg then quietly explained to Claire that she would not be staying in her bedroom that night, instead going to a nice family’s house and they would make sure she was safe. When Greg likened it to a sleep-over, Mycroft had again fought the urge to roll his eyes, but could not help his smirk when Claire looked less than convinced.

And now here he was, back in his office fulfilling his role as dutiful civil servant with no need to worry about the child’s well-being. He had checked into the emergency fosterer’s credentials prior to retiring for the evening and was satisfied with the results. Claire would be safe and cared for and that was the end of it. Yet, despite the fact that he was confident about Claire’s placement, he could not prevent his thoughts from returning to her time and again.

During his early morning meeting with the Finance Committee, Mycroft found himself wondering if Claire was awake yet, or if she was still snuggled under her covers with Boris tucked under her chin. While he was supposed to be reviewing his reports to prepare for his meeting with the Egyptian Ambassador, his thoughts turned to whether Claire was eating a proper breakfast and whether she was too young to drink tea. It wasn’t until Anthea had to repeat herself twice during his noon briefing that Mycroft realized just how out of hand the situation had become. It went beyond idle distraction, and was quickly escalating to lack of focus; for a man like Mycroft Holmes, a lack of focus could have dire consequences.

As Anthea gathered her things and moved toward the outer office, Mycroft took a sip of his no longer hot tea. He had eight minutes until the Egyptian Ambassador’s arrival at his office and he needed to collect his thoughts.

Enough, he chided himself. Enough of this now. You cannot change what happened to that child. She will be well cared for and that is that. You cannot allow sentiment and nostalgia cloud your judgment and you have absolutely no reason to continue to dwell on the matter. Claire Willoughby is not your concern. She is absolutely, undoubtedly, not your concern.

After having gone so far as to allow himself a firm nod to mark his agreement with his inner monologue, Mycroft began to peruse the paperwork in front of him, while thoroughly chastising himself for any disobedient thoughts that insisted on returning to Claire and her current situation. He was almost feeling back to his normal self when he was pulled forcefully from his introspection by the ringing of his mobile phone. His heart jumped to his throat when the caller ID revealed that the call was from Lestrade. He had given this particular number to the Inspector years ago, when he first became involved in Sherlock’s life, with the implicit instructions that it be used for emergencies only.

Steeling himself, Mycroft pressed answer and put the phone to his ear.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“Sherlock is fine. Honestly, he’s fine.”

Mycroft nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, Detective Inspector, as pleased as I am to hear that my brother will survive his latest mishap, perhaps you could enlighten me as to what that might have been?”

“I’m not calling about Sherlock. Or John for that matter. I just didn’t know any other way to get in touch with you aside from asking your brother and frankly, I’ve had quite enough of that irritating little git today."

“I see,” Mycroft replied smoothly. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what was so pressing that you felt the need to contact me on my emergency line?”

Hearing Greg’s deep sigh, Mycroft would bet (were he a betting man) that it was accompanied by a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I know, I know. I realize that this probably wasn’t the best way to get in touch with you, but it’s not like you left me any other choice. I mean, you never bothered to give me a ‘non-emergency’ number, now did you?”

When no words of agreement came to fill the space Greg had hanging at the end of that sentence, he continued.

“The reason I’m calling is because of Claire.”

As a man who prided himself on being hard to surprise, it seemed to Mycroft that the combined forces of a middle-aged DI, and a small child were working against him in that respect. However, even though his pulse quickened, and his palms went damp, his tone remained calm and unaffected as he quizzed Greg.

“You’re calling me because of the child? Is she in danger? Has she been injured in some way?”

“No, she’s fine. Well, I think she is. Actually, I’m not entirely sure about that, but physically, yes, she’s fine.”

“So, then, the reason you are calling would be…”

“She’s not talking. To anyone. Not a word. I tried to get her statement, and she’s just sitting there glaring at me. I even had Donovan take a go at her, and nothing.”

“Detective Inspector, I was under the impression that the case involving the murder of Claire’s foster parents was quite easily resolved. Sherlock announced the identity of the murderer to anyone within earshot of the scene itself. While it is somewhat disheartening that the child is not willingly communicating with you, I fail to see why you need her statement at all.”

“Because, Mr. Holmes, unlike your ridiculous brother, I actually need evidence in order to get a conviction. Like it or not, Claire Willoughby is our only witness, and while there is probably enough evidence at the scene to put this guy away, I still need a statement from her.”

“Fair enough, but you still haven’t given your reason for calling me about this matter.” Mycroft glanced at the clock on his desk, the Ambassador would be arriving momentarily, and this conversation appeared to be no closer to resolution that it had been at the beginning.

“Because I was hoping that you might try talking to her, you know, just to see if she might open up a bit…” Greg suggested hopefully.

“And you honestly believe that I, who is  just as much a stranger to the child as the rest of you, would somehow find success where you have failed?”

“Look, I realize that it’s an unorthodox request. In fact, it might even be a bit daft, but it’s the best I’ve got. She won’t talk to me, she won’t talk to my officers, and the fact remains that the only person she’s offered more than five words to is you.”

“To be fair, Detective Inspector Lestrade, she did exchange twenty words with you last night, they just were not particularly kind.”

Mycroft smiled as he heard Greg chuckle.

“Fair enough. But you were the only one among us that got a proper conversation out of her.” Greg paused, and took a deep breath. “Please, Mr. Holmes, will you help?”

_Yes! Yes of course! At the very least I’ll be able to check on her well-being myself. Perhaps even find something to make her smile…anything to make this nightmare easier for her. No child deserves what she is going through..._

Mycroft nearly growled in frustration as his thoughts ran away with him. Obviously, he didn’t want Claire to be upset or frightened, but it was absolutely impossible for him to get any more involved with the situation than he already was. It had already caused him to spend an alarming amount of his time thinking about her rather than the tasks at hand. No, it was impossible. He simply could not.

“Mr. Holmes?”

“No.” The word cut through the silence like a knife. “I apologise Detective Inspector, but it is simply impossible. I am afraid that my calendar is fully booked and I cannot take additional time out of my schedule to assist you in this matter. I am sure that you and your team are more than capable of out-witting a child in order to get your statement.”

“But Mr. Holmes…” Greg interjected, “If you could just give us a few minutes…”

“No, Inspector Lestrade, I cannot. I am, in fact, at this very moment quite late for a meeting. My apologies, but I must go.”

“Mr. Holmes, please…”

“Good-bye, Inspector. Best of luck to you.”

“Mr. Holmes…Mycroft…wait. Please wait.” Greg rushed through the words, trying desperately to get them out before Mycroft rang off. When he was met with silence, but no dial tone, he continued.

“I know you are a busy man, Mycroft. Every time we’ve ever met, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you have little time for me, and that’s fine. You can write me off as just another dim copper who’s stumbling through their job every day. But please, don’t do that to Claire. Don’t just write her off. You can make a difference here and you know it. Don’t turn your back on her.” Greg took a deep breath, gathering steam to continue to make his argument and then…he just sighed. There didn’t seem to be anything left to be said.

“Are you quite finished, Detective Inspector?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.” The defeat in Greg’s voice was palpable. “Did I make any difference? Or are you just going to go back to ignoring me?”

“I am not ignoring you, Detective Inspector, a fact that has been…”

“It’s Greg, you know. Or at least Lestrade. Christ, we’ve known each other for five years, and you’ve never once called me by anything other than my title.”

“Fine. Gregory,” Mycroft amended, his voice tight and sharp, “I can appreciate that you are emotionally invested in this case. It speaks highly of your character that you are so concerned about the child, but the fact remains that I am no way involved in situation beyond having been the one to locate the girl in the first place. And that is precisely where my involvement is going to end. Good day, Gregory.”

Greg didn’t even have the chance to reply before the line went dead.

 _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

By the time Anthea showed the Egyptian Ambassador into his office, Mycroft had managed to take enough deep breaths to force his demeanor once again into a mask of calm authority.  And while he placated the Ambassador with the appropriate words and empty flattery, Mycroft replayed the entire conversation with Gregory Lestrade in his head.

_I took the correct action. Of course I did. It was ludicrous for the police to believe that I would assist them in questioning the child. Ridiculous in all aspects. And yet, perhaps…_

As the meeting moved steadily toward the end of the first hour, Mycroft had not only renegotiated the parameters the newest trade agreement between the two nations, but had also outlined a series rather convincing arguments as to why his choice regarding his further involvement with Claire Willoughby was sound. Yet even that did not stop him from hearing Gregory’s words over and over again.

 _“Please_ _don’t do that to Claire. Don’t just write her off. You can make a difference here and you know it. Don’t turn your back on her.”_

_“Don’t just write her off.”_

_“Don’t turn your back on her.”_

Mycroft looked up suddenly from the trade report in front of him and met the Ambassador’s eyes, causing the other man to stop mid-sentence. When his interruption was met with a raised eyebrow, Mycroft smiled politely.

“Mr. Ambassador, I must apologise. I just noticed the time and realized that I failed to inform you that I would have to cut our appointment a bit short this afternoon. You see, I am currently assisting our local police force with a matter of some delicacy, and my presence was requested for an essential meeting. It appears that I must leave immediately in order to make it in time.”

Mycroft allowed none of his trepidation to bleed through the mask as he quickly began to gather the paperwork on his desk. “I’m sure you understand, and will forgive my oversight. You may reschedule the remainder of our discussion with my personal assistant for another time but I am afraid I must be off.”

He stood and shook the Ambassador’s hand firmly, and swept from his office before the poor man even had a chance to react to the sudden change of plans.

As Mycroft entered the outer office, Anthea immediately rose from her desk and moved toward him.

“Sir?” she questioned.

“Anthea, please ring for my car.”

“Of course, sir. May I inform them of your destination?”

“New Scotland Yard.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter involves a description of a crime scene. It is not terribly graphic, but please heed the warning if it is something that you are uncomfortable reading.
> 
> As always, many thanks to my beta lyricalsoul...she's awesome!

Greg glanced up from the report he was reading to check on Claire. She was sitting across from him busily drawing what appeared to be monsters. He had to give her credit, she was far more stubborn than he had expected, and after refusing to speak for well over an hour, he had finally given up and managed to find her some paper and pencils so she could draw for a while. He thought perhaps that by spending some time doing something fun she might open up a bit, but he wasn’t really holding out much hope. Especially since all of her monsters appeared to be wearing badges and one of them…the grey one, had a big arrow pointing at it with the name “Lestrade” written above.

“Claire,” Greg began softly, “do you think you might want to chat with me for a few minutes? We could talk about whatever you want.”

Claire’s dark eyes narrowed as she looked at him with pure disdain.

“Apparently not.” He mumbled, turning back to his report.

For her part, Claire made no further acknowledgment apart from furiously colouring in the ‘Lestrade’ monster’s arrow. He knew that they couldn’t keep her here at the station much longer today, but he still needed her statement, so he was already preparing himself for another round of the silent treatment tomorrow. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children: in fact Greg was rather fond of them. He had just never met one that could be so quiet for so long. It was, frankly, a bit unnerving and a lot boring.

Greg didn’t even try to suppress his sigh of relief when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called, hoping that there was a murder, or at least something that would give him an excuse to end his fruitless negotiations with Claire.

As Mycroft strode into the office, Greg was struck by the urge to start straightening up his office. Not that he thought Mycroft would judge him based on the number of used coffee cups on his desk, or that the wastepaper bin that was nearly overflowing in the corner, but simply so the well-dressed man looked less incongruous.

“Gregory,” Mycroft greeted, and then turned his attention to Claire. “And Miss Willoughby. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m okay,” she returned, and then pointed a pencil smudged finger in Greg’s direction. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“I see. Would you be willing to talk to me instead?”

“Maybe. But only if I can keep drawing.”

“And what is it that you are so focused on drawing?” Mycroft moved to stand behind Claire to see her paper.

"Oh my, is that meant to be a picture of our intrepid Inspector? There appears to be a rather large amount of artistic license being taken,” he quipped, glancing up at Greg. “You’ve never struck me as having quite so monstrous a disposition.”

“Yeah. That’s apparently what you get when you keep asking the kid questions she doesn’t want to answer,” Greg replied with a wry smile.

“I shall consider myself forewarned. Now, Claire,” Mycroft continued, “would you mind terribly if Gregory and I stepped out into the hallway for a moment before we begin our chat?”

Claire shook her head. Thus dismissed, Mycroft motioned Greg towards the door with a raised eyebrow.

As Mycroft pulled the door closed behind him, Greg began, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here Mycroft. And I’m sorry if I was a bit harsh on the phone earlier, but I ran out of options.”

“As I mentioned before, Gregory, I am not sure that I can be of any marked assistance in this matter, but I am willing to try. I do admit that I was overly hasty in my earlier decision to remain uninvolved in the situation.”

“Well, you’ve already gotten more out of her than I did. She actually talked to you instead of just glaring, like I got. Though, if we’re comparing notes, I’m the one hoping to get a rather charming portrait out of the deal.”

“Claire has proven to rather artistic, hasn’t she?” Mycroft said with a smile, which faded as he continued to regard Greg. “Before we continue in our venture, I do feel it necessary to inform you that there is a non-negotiable condition to my further involvement with Claire.”

“A condition? Okay…what it is then?” Greg asked, finding himself torn between curiosity and annoyance.

“If I am able to secure the necessary statement from Claire, then you must agree that this matter is closed. She is not to be questioned again.” Mycroft paused to allow the implications of his statement to be thoroughly processed. “Are we agreed?”

“Really? I mean…Really?” Greg huffed, feeling a sharp coil of anger building in his chest. He turned away and took a few steps down the hall, trying to distance himself from Mycroft before he completely lost his temper. It was amazing really, he mused, that the man could manage to turn him from happiness to anger so quickly. Bloody Holmeses. Greg clenched his hands and took a few deep breaths before returning to Mycroft.

“That’s your condition?” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “What makes you think that I’d do that? That I would just keep tormenting the poor little thing, keep making her relive that? Christ, Mycroft…you must really think that I’m a monster, just like she does!”

“My apologies, Gregory. It was not my intention to impune your morals. However, I want to be assured that all official inquiries will come to an end after this, and that Claire will never be considered to be a formal witness should this case ever go to trial. I will, if necessary, make absolutely sure of that fact myself. I hope it does not come to that.”

“It won’t!” Greg snapped. “You make sure that Claire’s statement will be enough to be entered into evidence should we need it, and I’ll make sure that no one makes her testify.”

Mycroft nodded and held out his hand to shake on their agreement.

“You do realize,” Greg continued as he grasped Mycroft’s hand, a bit more tightly than was strictly necessary, “we’re on the same side in this, don’t you? I don’t want to traumatize the kid, I just need to tie up the loose ends so that bastard goes to prison. We want the same resolution to this mess.”

“Of course, Gregory. I never doubted that we were of a like mind in regards to this situation. I simply felt it necessary to implicitly state my expectations. I’m quite glad you agreed so willingly.” Mycroft offered a placating smile, and against his better judgment, Greg found himself relaxing just a bit.

“Right.” Greg motioned to the door with a jut of his chin. “Shall we get this over with then?”

 “Of course.”

 __________________________________________________________________

 

Claire looked up as they entered the office, her eyes darting between them nervously. In the time that they were gone, Mycroft noticed, it seemed that she had abandoned her drawing, instead resorting to dragging the pencil aimlessly across the paper. He was certain that this was due to her reluctance to begin the inevitable conversation they would have, as well as a desire to find something to do with her hands. Perhaps she found the repetitive motion to be soothing, just as Sherlock did as a child? It was strange, he thought, how often his mind drew comparisons between Claire and his brother. Something to consider at greater length at another time. Right now, he had a rather delicate conversation to navigate.

Greg decided to remain as unobtrusive as possible, allowing Mycroft to take the lead. He turned the recorder on, gave the date, time, and named the witness, and moved over to lean against the wall near the window. Mycroft sat at Greg’s desk, and smiled at Claire, who was fidgeting in the chair opposite him. Once she met his eyes, Mycroft began. “Claire, I realize that you have been here for quite some time, and that several people have asked you questions about what happened last night. Do you know why they did that?”

She shook her head slowly, eyes on her paper, and scribbled her pencil back and forth a few times.

“I see. Would you like me to explain it to you?”

She nodded, still intent on her drawing.

“Claire, last night something very bad happened. Someone hurt your parents terribly and we want to make sure that the person who did it goes to jail so that they cannot hurt anyone else. Does that make sense?”

She bit her lip. “They weren’t my parents.”

“That’s true biologically, but they cared for you like they were, did they not?”

“I guess so, but they weren’t my parents. They were just taking care of me for a little while after my mum went away. They said that I was living there until someone else wanted me forever.” The pencil continued to scratch against the paper, the movements quicker and more agitated. “When are they going to be okay so that I can sleep in my own bed again?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. He’d been hoping that this portion of the conversation would not have come up so quickly. “Claire, you won’t be going back to The Milton’s house again. They are no longer able to care for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were very badly injured last night and they did not survive. They died, Claire… Do you understand what that means?”

Her dark curls fell forward as she bowed her head, closing off her expression from Mycroft. She nodded.

“It means they left me behind. Just like mum did.” She stopped the repetitive scribbling, and pulled her knees to her chest, dropping the pencil to wrap her arms around her legs.

Mycroft glanced over to Greg, looking for some indication of what had happened to her mother.

“Drugs,” Greg mouthed, rubbing a hand across his neck anxiously.

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself. This poor child had already experienced so much pain and loneliness and his heart ached for her. While he had a rather lonely childhood, he did not have to endure the death of a loved one until he was well into his teens. When his favorite uncle, Reginald Vernet died of cancer, he was most certainly upset, but he was never as close to his uncle as Sherlock. Sherlock had idolized his uncle and had spent nights weeping into Mycroft’s arms, asking him what he had done to cause him to leave them. Breathing deeply, Mycroft prepared himself to offer Claire a measure of situational understanding and solace that he had never been able to give to his brother, being scarcely more than a child himself.

“Claire, I need to tell you something very important,” Mycroft continued, his voice calm and sympathetic. “Could you look at me, please?”

Claire made no response apart from curling in on herself tighter and pressing her forehead down to her knees.

Mycroft stood, making his motions deliberate and as loud as possible so as not to startle the young child. He walked around the desk and settled onto his knees in front of Claire’s chair. “Claire?” Tipping his head slightly to try to catch her eyes, he reached out and covered her hands lightly with his own. “I would very much like you to look at me. Can you do that please?”

As she lifted her head and placed her chin on her knees, Mycroft smiled softly before continuing. “That’s very good. Thank you. Claire, I want you to understand that you are in no way responsible for what happened. Both last night, and with your mother. It’s not your fault, and you didn’t do anything wrong to cause these bad things. Do you understand?”

Claire nodded before suddenly launching herself at Mycroft. Mycroft let out a small ‘oomph’ as her knee connected uncomfortably with his stomach, and looked at Greg with surprise as he found himself with an armful of Claire. He wound his arms around her and stood, moving over to sit on the small couch in the corner of the office. He ignored Greg’s encouraging smile, and disentangled himself from Claire’s wiry limbs.

Greg nearly laughed at the site of Mycroft trying to outmaneuver the child. Every time he managed to unwrap one arm or leg, the other one popped right back up to curl around him again. The kid was like an octopus, Greg thought with chuckle he couldn’t quite suppress. Mycroft looked up at the sound and smiled, his eyes shining in amusement.  He had forgotten just how flexible and clinging a child could be.

Once he got as far as settling Claire on his lap, her head resting on his chest and her fingers entangled in his own, Mycroft began the conversation again. “I need you to tell us what happened last night.” As she started shaking her head emphatically, he put his hand on her back and hugged her tighter against him. “I know that it is probably scary for you,” Mycroft urged, “but I promise that you are perfectly safe here.”

“I can’t tell you,” she said firmly, her voice muffled against the fabric of his waistcoat.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll be mad at me.”

“I could never be angry with you. Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn’t help. And now everyone is dead, and I’m alone again.”

“Oh Claire,” Mycroft sighed, his voice thick with emotion, “you couldn’t possibly have helped prevent what occurred. And I will personally guarantee that you aren’t going to be alone. Gregory and I will make sure of that.”

Mycroft looked up and found Greg nodding his agreement as he moved closer to the pair. He crouched on floor near them and placed his hand on Claire’s back next to Mycroft’s. In that moment, Greg and Mycroft shared a look that made it abundantly clear that they would move heaven and earth if necessary to make sure that Claire was placed in a loving, and most importantly, long-term home. She would never again want for a family if either of these men had anything to say about it. It was pleasant, Mycroft mused, to have an ally who was so obviously devoted to the same cause.

“Promise?” Claire asked in a tiny voice.

“I give you my word,” Mycroft said firmly.

“Me too,” Greg added. “Now, can you tell us what you first remember?”

Claire looked up at him and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she studied Greg. Apparently she was prepared to renounce her earlier edict of silence where he was concerned, and she reached out a hand towards him. Greg quickly cupped her small hand in his own and smiled at her.

“I had a bad dream and I woke up. I was still scared a little, so I started talking to Boris. I was telling him a story about a princess and dragon when I heard a noise.”

“What type of noise?” Mycroft asked softly.

“It sounded like a cry. Like Miss Angela was maybe having a bad dream too.”

It was impossible to rewrite the events of the previous night, but Mycroft found himself wishing that Claire had only managed to sleep through the night. While it likely would have placed her in even more danger than she had already been in, at least she would have been spared the trauma of the visions that would likely haunt her in the future. He squeezed his arms around her more tightly, an unconscious effort to keep her safe even though she was no longer in danger.

“And what happened then, Claire?” Greg urged.

“I got out of bed and went down the hall to their room. I was almost there when everything started feeling not good. Like something bad was happening.” Claire paused, and turned her head back into Mycroft’s chest, as though gathering strength from his presence.

“I wanted to go back to my room, but then I thought that if Miss Angela was scared that I should go and help. Like wake her up or something so she wasn’t scared anymore. So I pushed up against the wall and snuck down the hall the rest of the way, like I was a ninja or something. The bedroom door was open…” Claire trailed off.

Mycroft and Greg shared a look over her shoulder. Mycroft took a deep breath. “Did you look inside the room, Claire?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did you see?”

“Miss Angela and Mister Charles were sitting up in the bed. They looked scared. Miss Angela was crying. And there was a big man standing in front of them. He was mad.”

“Did he say anything, Claire? Can you remember anything about what he looked like?” Greg urged. They were so close to getting what they needed. Just a few more questions and then they’d have their statement and then the poor girl could be done with all of this.

“He didn’t say anything, his face was just all red like he was going to start yelling. He put his hand in his pocket and then he had a gun in his hand. He pointed it at Mister Charles and Miss Angela.” Claire shuddered slightly at the memory, and both men began to rub her back lightly in comfort. “He was a big man, bigger than Mister Charles, and he had a picture of spider on his arm by his elbow. And, um…he had really ugly trainers on.”

“What color hair did he have? Do you remember?” Greg questioned, urging out the details that would help the police make a positive, and irrefutable identification.

“His hair was yellow. But not pretty yellow like Sleeping Beauty, it was browner than that. And he had a little beard that went just here…” she motioned to her chin and just over her lip, indicating a goatee.

“Very good, Claire, you’re doing very well,” Mycroft soothed. He was surprised, frankly, that even in her terror she was able to remember details about the assailant like the tattoo across his forearm. That detail, along with her description of his body type, hair color, and facial hair may be enough to prevent her from needing to identify the man from a photo line-up. “What happened next?”

“I think he shot the gun at them. I was scared when I saw the gun, so I backed up a few steps so I couldn’t see him anymore, but I heard two loud bangs,” she paused and took a deep breath, “then I went forward again, on my tiptoes, so the big man didn’t hear me and I looked in the door.” Claire looked up at Mycroft with wide eyes and whispered, “I saw lots of red on the bed and the wall. I think maybe it was blood.” She pressed her face against his chest again. “And then I ran away to outside. I didn’t help them. I didn’t even try. I just got scared and ran away.” The tears began then, her tiny shoulders shaking with the effort.

Greg swallowed thickly. “Oh sweetie,” he murmured, “there wasn’t anything you could have done to help. It was good that you ran outside to someplace safe. You did everything just right.”

“I agree.” Mycroft said, holding her close, “You did do everything just as you should have. And you were brave in telling us what happened. I’m so very proud of you.” Claire sighed a little and slumped down into Mycroft’s arms, sniffling half-heartedly. Mycroft looked up at Greg. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we’re good. This should be enough to make sure she doesn’t have to testify, and it’s also probably enough to get a confession out of him up front. It’d certainly be easier if he just pleaded guilty in the first place.”

Mycroft nodded and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a handkerchief, which he pressed into Claire’s hands.

She sniffed again loudly and wiped at her eyes before looking up at Greg.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can, kiddo. What is it?”

“What happens now? Where do I go?”

“Well, for the time being, you are going to go back to the Taylor’s house, where you were last night. They’re going to keep you for a few days while things calm down a bit, and then they’ll see about getting you set up in a new permanent home.” Greg tried his best to sound positive, but it was hard. He knew that it was fairly likely that Claire would be bounced around to at least a few different homes before she found a permanent placement.

Claire nodded morosely before turning toward Mycroft. “Do I get to see you again?”

“Yes.” He said it quickly, with the air of a man who was unused to having his word questioned. As the silence stretched on, Mycroft realized that he should probably elaborate slightly. “I’ll make sure to look in on you from time to time to see how you are settling in.” It sounded a bit cold, he thought, but he could not offer more than that and he refused to make the child promises that he could not keep.

“And you?” she asked, looking over her shoulder to Greg.

“Of course you can, if you want. I’ll give you my phone number so you can call me up any time you want to talk, okay?” Greg pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “That number right there on the bottom is mine. You just ring and you can talk to me about anything.”

Claire smiled shyly up at Greg and moved off of Mycroft’s lap. “Is it ok if I draw a little more?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course it is, my dear. Why don’t you settle over in your chair, and Gregory and I will go find you a glass of water.”

Claire reached out and squeezed his hand before going back over to her spot at Greg’s desk. The simple act caught Mycroft off guard and he rubbed the palm of his hand where the subtle heat of her hand had lingered. It was almost as if she had been trying to comfort him, a thought that made him shake his head before he was even aware of the motion.

__________________________________________________________________  


 

As Greg pulled the door shut behind him, he leaned back against it and rubbed his hand over his face. Mycroft stood before him, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped slightly.

“Jesus, that was rather hellish, wasn’t it?” Greg said, rolling his neck side to side as though trying to shake Claire’s story out of his head.

“Indeed it was.” Mycroft sighed, pulling his shoulders back and regaining a bit of his normal stature. Greg frowned as he watched the mask of indifference slide over Mycroft’s features. It was a bit unnerving to see Mycroft transform so readily from the man who just spent the last half an hour with a child cradled in his arms to the detached bureaucrat before him.

“You really were great with her, you know?” Greg said warmly, trying to encourage Mycroft to relax again. “She wouldn’t have told us any of that you hadn’t been there. I’m grateful.”

“Please, Gregory, do not give me more credit than I deserve. I’m pleased that she gave you the statement that you needed, and that this entire matter can now be put behind her.”

“Yeah, wish it were that easy though,” Greg countered. “The kid’s still going to have to deal with a lot, even if Child Protection gets her set up in a new home right away, which is a stretch.”

“I know it is, and I’ll see what I can do to expedite the issue. Claire deserves at least that much.”

“Minor government position, my arse,” Greg said with a chuckle. “But you’re right, she does deserve a good home.”

Silence stretched between them as they walked down the hallway toward the water cooler, both men wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“Hey, Mycroft?” Greg began cautiously. When Mycroft glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, he continued, “Have you ever thought that maybe you should take her? I mean, you’re great with her, and she obviously likes you. You might be good for each other...”

Mycroft said nothing and refused to meet Greg’s eyes.

“You know what, never mind. It’s just me talking out of my arse a bit. I just don’t want to see the kid get lost in the system. I just thought...well, not important what I thought.”

Mycroft slowed to a stop, turning to look at Greg. “Gregory, please don’t misunderstand what it is that I am about to say. I’m flattered that you think me capable of providing Claire with a stable home. However, my life is in no way conducive to the presence of a child.  I travel constantly, I work long, unpredictable hours, and I am seldom in a position that affords me any sense of normalcy in my home life. Not to mention the security risks associated with bringing another person into the fold. It’s impossible, and I cannot even entertain the notion.”

“Yeah. Right. Of course not.” Greg responded, meeting his eyes with a fierce look. “But that’s what you said the last time I asked for your help with Claire too.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire Willoughby strikes again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to my beta lyricalsoul. She points out when I'm being cliche, fixes all of my weird Americanisms, and doesn't give up on me even though I can never figure out how to punctuate a conversation!

Sinking into his couch with a plate of curry and beer, Greg began to unwind after what had proven to be a rather trying week. Not only did he have the weekend off, he also had absolutely nothing planned to fill his time aside from catching up on sleep and watching some football. Which sounded perfect to him.

In the quiet of his flat, Greg finally had time to process all of the drama that took place in the last few days and begin to try to make sense of it all. It was funny, he thought, how often witnessing a single conversation could completely change your impression of a person.

The first time it happened was during his team’s phony drugs bust at Baker Street, shortly after he had met John for the first time. In the span of about five minutes, Greg saw Sherlock willingly (and silently) offer John more information about his past than he had shared with anyone other than Greg himself. In those few minutes, he saw Sherlock change in a way that would finally allow him to let go of the fear that one day Sherlock would be the dead body in the alleyway.

The second conversation took place after Sherlock told him about his wife’s affair with a P.E. teacher at Christmas a few years ago. While he had known that he really had no reason to doubt Sherlock, he honestly didn’t want to believe him. Until he happened to stop off for a cup of coffee in an unfamiliar shop after coming back from a crime scene across town. When he walked in, he saw his wife, Linda, sitting with a bloke he didn’t recognise. Not one to make a scene, and too far away to eavesdrop, he sat down across the room and watched them in conversation. By the end of it, he knew beyond a doubt that their marriage was over, and that he would be giving back the ring he had worn for the last fourteen years to the woman who had seldom been faithful.

And then there was the day before yesterday. When he watched Mycroft Holmes hold a child in is arms and wipe away her tears. Even with forty odd hours to process it all, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it entirely.  He had known Mycroft for years, and while they were never friends in the traditional sense, they were certainly allies, at least where Sherlock was concerned. It had always been apparent that Mycroft cared about the people in his life, even if you did have to get past a wall of impervious glares and condescending smirks to see it.  He obviously cared about his brother,and to some extent, Greg also knew he cared for him. After one particularly hellish case where Sherlock’s impetuousness led to him and half of his officers being knee deep in the stinking mud of the Thames while the sky pissed down rain, Mycroft had arranged for hot food and coffee to be delivered for the whole team once they got back to the Yard. Greg even found a new suit waiting for him when he got back in his office. While it wasn’t a resounding declaration of affection, it certainly was the act of a caring man. And now it seemed that man had made also room, at least temporarily, to care about Claire Willoughby.

As the sun slid below the horizon, and the beige walls of Greg’s flat were painted with the dull orange glow of the sunset, he took a sip of his beer and smiled. The look of shock on Mycroft’s face when Claire had lunged into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck still made him laugh. It was heartening to see the walls of indifference that Mycroft so obviously cultivated around himself come tumbling down as soon as he was faced with the onslaught of a weeping child. It made Mycroft seem more human…a side of the man that Greg found himself quite fond of. Yes, he thought, the conversation between Claire and Mycroft, filled with sadness and tinged with hope, would definitely be one of those perception altering experiences that would be locked in his memory. Never again would he be able to look at Mycroft and see the Iceman.

Greg was startled out of his thoughts by the ringing of his mobile. He plucked it from the coffee table, took a look at the caller, and groaned. “It’s my day off.”  

“Lestrade.” He answered, resigning himself to a weekend spent at a crime scene rather than in his lovely bed.

“Lestrade… It’s Jack Larson. Sorry to bother you, but there’s a bit of a situation here.”

“And you need me? On my day off?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t but there’s a kid… An older lady came in with this girl in tow and said that she found her wandering around on the street. When she asked her if she was lost, she handed her your business card.” Greg groaned…Claire Willoughby strikes again.  “And then the kid marches straight up to the desk, sticks your card in my hand and said ‘I want to see Greg.’ And she’s not saying anything else. Not a word.”

Greg was already up, leaving his dishes on the coffee table and gathering up his keys, wallet, and warrant card on the way to the front door.

“Right then, I’m on my way. Keep an eye on her until I get there and make sure she doesn’t wander off okay? Also, see what more you can find out from the lady who brought her in…where was she found? What time? You know the drill.”

“Yeah, of course, but who is she? You have a kid you haven’t told any of us about?”

“No. No, she’s not mine. She’s the daughter of the two murder victims we found a few days ago. She’s supposed to be at a care home right now. But she’s twigged on to me, and now apparently has managed to get herself away from the fosterers and all the way down to my bloody office! Look, I’m out the door, I’ll be there in twenty minutes at the most,” Greg explained, climbing into his car and turning the key in the ignition.

“Alright mate, thanks. See you soon,” Jack said, ringing off.

Greg turned out onto the main road and flicked through his list of contacts as he waited for the traffic to clear. He scrolled until he found Mycroft’s name and the new number he had been given for non-Sherlock related emergencies. Hitting the call button with his thumb while navigating a turn, Greg pressed the phone up to his ear and took a deep breath when it went over to voicemail.

“Mycroft, it’s Greg. Listen, I just got a call from the station, and it appears that Claire has turned up there, wanting to talk to me. I don’t know any of the details yet other than the fact that she’s fine but obviously not where she should be. I’m heading down there now to see what’s going on, but I thought you’d like to know. Maybe not. I don’t know. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to worry about, but there it is. I’ll call you back when I know more, okay?” Greg rang off just before loudly cursing at the bus which had just cut him off. Greg hit the steering wheel in frustration. No matter what was going on with Claire, it was terribly unlikely that his weekend of no plans and relaxation was going to happen.

 

 _________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

As he rounded a corner and walked briskly down the hallway, Greg caught sight of a slightly disheveled Claire sitting on a chair near the front desk. She was dressed well enough, but her jacket seemed to have been left behind, her laces were untied, and her hair was a mess of wild curls. A small pink rucksack sat on the floor next to her. PC Larson was trying to make small talk, but Claire was apparently no more talkative with him than she was with anyone. Her demeanor changed significantly once she saw Greg, and she jumped off the chair and ran to him.

Crouching down to the floor and opening his arms, Greg quickly found himself the recipient of an enthusiastic hug.

“Hello,” Claire said shyly.

“Hi kiddo,” Greg responded, holding her at arms length. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Taylor’s house?”

Claire looked down and scuffed the toe of her shoe on the floor. “Uh huh. But I don’t like it there, and I wanted to see you like you promised.”

“Claire,” Greg sighed, “I know things are rough right now, but you can’t just run away from the Taylor’s like that. They’re probably worried sick!”

“They don’t even know I’m gone yet. No one checks on me until half-eight and the clock right there says it’s only eight-oh-seven,” she explained, pointing at the clock on the wall. “That means they don’t know yet.”

“Well, they will soon enough. And that’s no excuse, by the way, so don’t think that that will get you out of trouble.”  Greg smothered the grin that was creeping across his face, instead schooling his features into a half-hearted frown.

Greg sat down on the floor, folding his legs under him. “Okay Claire, out with it. Why’d you run away?”

Claire only shrugged in response.

“Nope,” Greg continued, “sorry kiddo, that’s not going to cut it. You need to tell me why you left...What happened?”

“I don’t like it there!” she snapped, before quickly looking down at the floor again. She huffed indignantly, “The other kids were mean to me…”

He frowned at her hurt tone. “Mean? How? What did they do?”

 “Christopher said I had ugly hair and Anna laughed at me when I couldn’t tie my shoes.” Claire explained, tears welling up in her eyes.

Greg cocked his head to the side, “That’s not all, is it? What else happened? Did they hurt you somehow?” Concern flared in his chest, his copper’s desire to gather all the facts warring painfully with his urge to protect Claire.

Claire wiped her eyes and started to shrug again, but gave up when she saw Greg frown. “I don’t have my own room, and the sheets on the bed smell like stinky soap, and it’s really dark in there at night. The bigger kids made fun of me when I wanted a light on. They said it was for babies…” The silence that followed was profound.

“I’m not a baby,” Claire whispered, her shoulders sagging in defeat, “I just don’t like the dark. Bad things always happen when it’s dark.”

Greg tugged her forward and she slumped into his arms. He sighed. It was obvious that Claire was exhausted, and that tonight’s excursion had taken away any sense of resolve that she was still clinging to. She needed her own space, a good night’s rest, and someone to be there for her when the inevitable nightmares woke her up. 

Pulling back slightly, Greg smoothed Claire’s hair back from her face and gently lifted her chin so she would meet his eyes. “Listen kiddo, I need you to stay here for just a few minutes, okay? Officer Larson’s going to keep an eye on you while I go call your social worker and figure things out. Then we’ll see about getting you sorted for the night. Sound good?”

Claire nodded and walked back over to the chair she had been sitting in when Greg arrived. Greg nodded his thanks to PC Larson and smiled encouragingly at Claire before moving down the hallway to make his call.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Claire’s social worker picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Emily? Hey, it’s Greg Lestrade.”

“Greg! It’s nice to hear from you. I’m assuming that you are ringing to check up on Claire Willoughby, right?”

“More or less, but I’m fairly certain I have a better handle on that situation than I really wanted.” Greg replied. “She’s at the Yard with me right now. Turns out the little thing’s pretty damn good at running away.”

“What?” Her tone was sharp and breathless. “Buggering hell!”

Greg flinched and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, she ran away from the Taylor’s place and turned up at the office demanding to see me. Once I got down here, she told me that some of the other kid’s at the house were picking on her and she ran away. Doesn’t sound like she has any intention of staying put if you send her back there either.”

Greg couldn’t help but smile when he heard the usually proper social worker mutter “Oh bollocks” under her breath. “Greg,” she continued, “I know the situation at the Taylor’s is less than ideal for Claire, but I honestly have nowhere else to put her right now. It’s the best I’ve got.”

Greg ran his hand through his hair in frustration. This was exactly what he was worried was going to happen.

“Why don’t I take her for a couple of days?” The words were out of Greg’s mouth before he even had a chance to think about them.

“You can’t be serious,” Emily responded almost before he said it.

“Why not? We both know that if you take her back to that house, she’s just going to run again. I’d rather have her in a place I can keep an eye on her than have her wandering London by herself! Anyway, it would only be for a couple of days, just until you get someplace else sorted for her. Surely I can’t screw the kid up too badly in a weekend?” The levity Greg had been trying for was falling woefully short, but at least the attempt was there.

“Is that an honest offer? Because, I’ll tell you, Greg, I’m really tempted to take you up on it right now.”

“Of course it is. Claire actually sought me out this time, so I think that means she’d be okay with it.” Greg quickly made a mental check of what kid-friendly provisions he had in his flat, and decided a Tesco run would definitely be in order tomorrow. They couldn’t survive on biscuits alone. “I’m going to need you to get me some of her stuff to hold her over for a few days. We can make do for tonight, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a change of clothes in the morning.”

“Greg, are really sure about this?” Emily questioned. “I’m not going to lie: you’d be doing me a huge favor. But I want to make sure that you are okay with this. Dealing with a five year old isn’t easy.”

“I know, Em. Remember, we’ve been friends for years, and you know me. I wouldn’t volunteer unless I meant it. Honestly, we’re good. Claire and I will be fine for a couple of days, and you can check up on us properly in the morning okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll sort things out with the Taylor’s tonight, and be round your place around nine with some of Claire’s things. But you call me immediately if you need anything else, okay?”

“Right. Of course. We’ll be fine.”

After a few more rounds of reassurances, on both their parts, Greg rang off and slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He walked back over to Claire and kneeled down in front of her chair.

“Okay you, up you get. You’re going to come back to mine for a bit until we can get things sorted out with a new care home.” Claire looked up at Greg in surprise and then smiled. “But,” he continued, “you have to make me three promises first, okay?”

“What kind of promises?”

“First of all, you have to promise me you aren’t going to run away. Deal?”

Claire bit her lip, and then nodded.

“Second, when we get back to my flat, you need to promise to go straight to bed. It’s past your bedtime and you need to get to sleep.”

“Only if you tell me a story first.” Claire pouted and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine. Story first, then bed.”

After Claire nodded, Greg moved on to his third condition.

“Now, if you have a bad dream or anything, you can come and wake me up, but if not, no getting out of bed before the sun comes up okay? I’m an old man, and I need my sleep.”

Claire giggled and nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay then. Let’s shake on it.” Greg flashed Claire a grin and stuck out his hand. When she solemnly placed her hand in his and shook it, he chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“Alright then, grab your stuff and let’s get out of here.”

As she gathered up her rucksack, Greg thanked PC Larson for his help, and then held out his hand toward Claire. He smiled when she took his hand without hesitation, and together they made their way out to his car.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Greg shouldered Claire’s rucksack as he gathered her sleepy body into his arms. She had drifted off quickly once she was in the car, exhaustion winning out over the prospect of seeing a new part of the city.  He shifted her slightly, trying to unlock the door without having to set her down, and she snuffled and pressed her nose into the side of his neck. As he pushed the door open with his foot and flicked on the light, Claire’s snuffling turned into a grumpy sigh and she blinked up at him.

“We’re here,” Greg said quietly, setting her down when she started to squirm. “Want to follow me? I’ll show you where you’re gonna sleep tonight.”

Claire frowned and pointed to the door. Greg glanced behind him, confused as to what the problem might be. When he looked back down at her, Claire sighed, took a few steps forward, and jabbed emphatically at the lock.

“Is this what you want?” Greg asked as he flicked the latch, locking the door.

Claire nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fist. “Are we safe now?” she whispered.

“We’re safe, sweetie, nothing’s going to happen. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

When Claire didn’t reply, Greg held out his hand to her again. “Ready to see your room? It’s not much, but it’s all yours for a few nights and I’ll even make sure to leave a light on for you, yeah?” As they made their way down the hall, Greg pointed out the bathroom and the door to his bedroom. He led her into his spare bedroom and Claire immediately climbed up on the bed and bounced up and down a little. Greg laughed and set her rucksack on the end of the bed.

“So this is okay?”

“Yup,” Claire responded clambering down to tug her rucksack open. She pulled out Boris with a flourish and planted a kiss on his fuzzy head as she crawled back up the bed to lean him against the pillows. She patted him once and then returned to her rucksack, tipping it upside down to shake out the rest of the contents. Greg chuckled as a children’s book and a pink, glittery toothbrush, fell on to the duvet. _Ah yes,_ he thought, _all of the essential gear for running away when you’re five._

“Don’t suppose you have a set of pajamas hiding in that bag, do you?” Greg asked with a smile as Claire stacked her meager possessions together into a neat pile on the bedside table.

Claire shook her head sheepishly and settled back against the pillow, pulling Boris into her lap.

“Okay, hang on a mo, let me see what I can do about that. You stay put, okay?” Greg waited for Claire to nod before darting out of the room. He returned with a black vest and held it out towards Claire, frowning at the size. “Why don’t you put this on? It’s going to be huge on you, but it should do the trick. I’ll go and get you a glass of water while you get changed, and then you can go to sleep.”

“After a story, right? You promised. We shook hands on it.” Claire reminded.

“Yup, you’re right, I promised. I’ll tell you a story first.” Greg set the vest on the bed, turned on the small bedside lamp, and left the room, turning the overhead light out on his way out the door. When he returned with the glass of water, he was pleased to see that Claire had changed clothes, and snuggled under the duvet.

“Look at you, all tucked in for the night!” Greg smiled as he set the glass down on the table. “You comfy?”

Claire giggled and scrunched farther under the covers and tucked her bear under her chin.

“What kind of story do you want to hear?” he asked, perching on the edge of bed, his right leg curling under his body.

“Princesses,” Claire replied with certainty, “And faeries, and magic talking animals!” She paused, biting her lip slightly. “But no monsters, okay?”

“Deal. Princesses and faeries and chatty animals…got it.”

As Greg wove a story of ridiculousness, Claire’s little eyes grew heavier with sleep. It didn’t take long for her to drift off to the sound of his voice, and Greg smiled as he brushed a curl away from her forehead. He pulled the duvet up around her shoulders, and then snuck out of the room, tugging the door half-closed behind him.

Returning to the living room, Greg gathered up his half-finished meal from earlier and took it into the kitchen. After scraping the plate and washing up the dishes, he surveyed the contents of his refrigerator and pantry. Breakfast was certainly going to be made up of an interesting assortment of food, Greg mused. As he put the kettle on to boil, Greg pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mycroft’s number. It didn’t really surprise him when it went to voicemail again.

“Mycroft, it’s Greg again. So, Claire’s fine. Apparently some of the other kids at the Taylor’s were picking on her, and she decided to take off. It’s a good thing that someone brought her into the station before anything happened. I talked to her social worker, she’s a friend of mine, and she’s going to figure out a new placement for her by Monday. Claire’s at my place until then.  Thought you’d like to know.”

Greg rang off and set about making his tea. Once it was ready he gathered up his mug and headed toward his bedroom. Even though he made Claire promise that she wouldn’t get up before sunrise, he certainly wasn’t going to delude himself that he’d get to sleep in. Finishing his tea and reading a few chapters in his book sounded like a good plan before turning in for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is what happens when Greg is left in charge of a child...

Panic.  That was the overriding emotion that presented itself when he first heard Gregory’s message about Claire turning up at Scotland Yard. Mycroft Holmes did not panic. He didn’t panic when the world was on the cusp of war. He didn’t panic when the nation was in the throes of economic turmoil. And he certainly didn’t panic when a child, who was none of his concern, suddenly ran away from home. Yet there it was. That’s what he felt in those first few moments as Gregory outlined the state of affairs. And wasn’t that a bit of a turn up?

Thankfully, before he could enact any of the seven contingency plans he had already put in place regarding Claire’s safety, he had taken the time to listen to the second message from Gregory, the one indicating that Claire was fine, and staying with him for the time being. It was a good thing, in this case, that the meeting he had been conducting on the trip back from Switzerland had prevented him from answering the calls as they came in. It wouldn’t have done at all to give anyone an indication that he was overreacting to the situation, which, if he were honest, is precisely how at least five of his safety protocols would have appeared to Gregory and his colleagues.

No. This way was certainly better. Having all the relevant information at his disposal before he reacted. Exactly as it should be. A well thought out, well executed course of action, rather than one born of a momentary lapse in judgment. _Panic_ , his mind supplied.

Mycroft took a deep breath, gathered his briefcase, and left his office. London really was a beautiful city, he thought as he glanced out the window as he made his way downstairs to the car waiting to take him home. The sun was already well into the sky, but the city had yet to shake off the early morning shine that always made him smile. Well, when he was able to take notice of it, of course. He and Sherlock both loved this city, each in their own way. Sherlock preferred the night, loving the excitement, the challenge, and the drama that was inherent wherever he went. But not Mycroft. He loved the daylight, particularly in the small hours of the morning as the city came alive for the day. He loved the sounds, the smells, and sights of his city waking up, ready to tackle the challenges of the day.

_My God._ Mycroft shook his head, _I’m certainly becoming quite the romantic in my dotage. Next thing you know, I’ll be waxing poetic about queen and country and whistling the national anthem! It must be the sleep deprivation talking…how long have I been up again?_ Checking his watch, Mycroft realized that it was far closer to the thirty-six hour mark than he would have liked. He needed sleep. And food. And something resembling a cup of tea. Definitely that last bit. Still…he did want to check in with Gregory and Claire to see how things were going.

Logically, he mused, he knew that Gregory had the entire situation with Claire well in hand, and that he did not need to involve himself. He also knew that there was nothing that would change if he were to go back to his home to shower, change his clothing, and recover slightly from his grueling trip abroad. It seemed, however, as he slid into the back seat of his car, that logic was not going to be a particularly active participant in the decision making process. And, as he gave his driver the address to Greg’s flat, Mycroft realized with a fair amount of surprise, that logic had not really been part of his decision making process in any matter that concerned Claire Willoughby thus far.

 

 _______________________________________________________________________________

 

As Mycroft climbed the stairs to Greg’s flat, he seriously began to rethink his decision of coming straight over from the office. His legs felt like lead and his head was beginning to throb so much that he was quite convinced that it was actually shrieking at him. When he realized that the shrieking was not internal and was instead coming from Greg’s flat, he redoubled his efforts and charged up the stairs, not even hesitating to knock on the door before bursting inside.

Set against the backdrop of a squealing fire alarm, the sight that greeted him was both chaotic and strangely endearing. Dressed in wrinkled pajama bottoms and a vest, a still smoldering pan in his left hand, Greg was stretched toward the ceiling, attempting to fan the smoke away from the smoke detector with a newspaper. Claire, on the other hand, was giggling wholeheartedly and kneeling precariously on the seat of her chair in order to reach a chocolate biscuit from the center of the table, whilst wearing what appeared to be a hat fashioned out of newspaper.

At the sound of the door banging open, Greg yelped in surprise and jumped in front of Claire, the very picture of a protective parent defending it’s young. Once he realized it was Mycroft, he relaxed immediately, turning to set the pan on the worktop. He then climbed up on a chair, jerked the housing of the smoke detector apart and ripped the battery out.  

“Thank God! I thought that bloody thing would never stop!” Greg exclaimed as he climbed back off the chair and grinned at Mycroft. “Morning, Mycroft. Didn’t really expect to have you turn up so early.”

“Mycroft!” Claire shouted, jumping down from her chair and running up to wrap her arms around his legs in a hug. “What are you doing here? Did you come to have breakfast with us?”

“Is that what this is?” Mycroft asked wrinkling his nose slightly as he walked into the kitchen.

“Yup…it’s awesome!”

“And am I meant to assume that in the time I have been abroad that breakfast has been redefined to consist of half of an apple, chocolate biscuits, and burned scones?”

“Hey now…none of that from you!” Greg said with a huff. “I’m improvising here. It’s not like I planned on having a kid round for the weekend!”

Claire tugged Mycroft over and pointed to the chair beside her. “You sit there. And be nice. We’re impsprovising here.” Mycroft stifled a chuckle at Claire’s attempt at pronunciation. “And the scones are pretty good…once you scrape the black bits off. And put butter on them. And jam. And then don’t think about the burnt taste.” Claire trailed off, obviously looking for a bit of good news to turn the tide of the conversation. “But we have biscuits! And those are yummy! ‘cause, you know, Greg didn’t cook those.”

Greg burst out laughing, and Mycroft joined in. “Fine, then. I see how I rate. I know when I’m not wanted.” Greg sighed theatrically, moving the pan to the sink and putting it to soak. “Biscuits and apples for breakfast it is then.”

“Is there also a new dress code for breakfast of which I’m not aware” Mycroft asked watching Claire push her paper hat down more snugly as she reached for another biscuit.

Greg gasped in mock horror. “Of course there is! A princess couldn’t possibly attend a feast without the proper attire!”

“Uh huh!” Claire exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and spinning around in a circle with her arms outstretched. “This is my fancy dress,” she explained, pulling at the black vest that she had worn as pajamas. “And this,” she continued, plucking gently at what appeared to be one of Greg’s ties which was tied around her waist, “is my silk sash. It’s so I look extra fancy.”

“And no outfit would be complete without a tiara,” Greg elaborated, flicking the paper hat as he rounded the table and took a seat across from Mycroft.

“I see. That is quite the outfit the two of you have concocted. Though, I must say, Gregory, I do despair for your tiara creation abilities. That looks rather more like a pirate’s hat than a princess’ tiara.” Mycroft smiled as he watched Claire spin around a few more times before sitting down.

“Like I said, we’re improvising,” Greg chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. “And besides, pirate hats are all I ever learned to fold out of a newspaper. Given the fact that it’s only half seven, I’d say I’ve done rather well, thank you very much.”

“Except for the scones,” Claire chimed in. “Those poor little burnt scones…they never had a chance.” She shook her head sadly before erupting into another round of giggles.

Mycroft snorted indecorously and put his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter. Greg slumped back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest with a melodramatic huff before breaking into laughter himself.

As the snickering died down, Greg finally took a good look at Mycroft’s appearance. He looked…rumpled. Granted, if he were a normal person, he’d look fine, but for someone who was always impeccably dressed, the fact that Mycroft’s suit jacket had a few slight wrinkles and his tie was slightly askew spoke volumes. Taking in the lightly mussed hair and the look of fatigue pinching around his eyes, Greg was certain that Mycroft had spent far too long working without a proper night’s sleep.

“You look like you could use a cuppa.” He offered, standing up and flicking the kettle on to boil.

“That would be absolutely wonderful,” Mycroft sighed. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Of course.” Greg grabbed another apple and paring knife, quickly sectioning the apple into slices and arranging them on a plate. “So, you never said why you’re here…not that you’re not welcome.” He placed the plate in front of Mycroft and gave him a look that practically dared him to refuse to eat. Mycroft capitulated with only a slight hesitation.

“I was in Switz…away…when you called last night. Unfortunately, I was unable to retrieve your messages until about an hour ago. I thought I should stop by on my way home to see if you had a pleasant evening with Claire.”

“Right. Is that the story you are sticking to, then?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Gregory. I certainly have no ulterior motives in the matter.”

Greg hummed in disbelief.  “You and I both know that my flat is nowhere near where you most likely live. Certainly not on your way home, in any case. And from the looks of it, you haven’t slept in a good long while, so there must be something more to it than just popping in to say hello.”

“Honestly, Gregory, must you always think the worst of me?” Mycroft asked with a sigh. “The truth of the matter is that I received your messages, and in my somewhat sleep deprived state, I may have overreacted slightly. Hence, my presence. I simply wanted to check on Claire myself, and make sure there was nothing that you needed. That’s all.”

“You came to see me?” Claire asked, looking up from her breakfast.

“I did indeed. Did you find your evening with Gregory pleasant? Did you sleep well?” Mycroft asked as Greg placed a mug of tea in front of him.

“Uh huh…it was fun. I got to sleep in my own big bed, and I didn’t have any bad dreams at all! Greg told me a story that had a talking dog in it. And there were princesses in there too, but I fell asleep before I found out how those two things went together.” Claire frowned and looked up at Greg. “Can we start our story earlier tonight so I can stay awake and find out?”

Greg sipped his tea and smiled at Claire. “Sure. I can retell it tonight. We’ll start earlier.” 

“And what about you, Gregory? Is there anything you need to make this situation more tenable in the short term?”

“Nope…we’re good. Claire’s social worker is stopping round in a few hours to drop of some off some clothes and things, and I’m going to make a run to the shops a bit later to get some food. I probably shouldn’t feed the kid biscuits for breakfast two days in a row. We should be fine for another day.”

“And your plans for the rest of the day? Remedial courses in scone making?” Mycroft teased, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Claire.

“Ha ha…very funny,” Greg retorted with a laugh. “No, I thought we might go to the park or something. Seems like it’s going to be a nice day, and I thought we could both do with some time outside. Any chance you’re free to join us?”

“Unfortunately, no, I have several things that I must attend to today. But it does sound like a pleasant outing.”

“What? You’re not coming? You’ve got to come!” Claire whined, jumping to her feet and climbing into Mycroft’s lap. “Please? Please, Mycroft, please?”

When he tried to shake his head, Claire’s cajoling took on epic proportions. “Please? Please? Please? Please? Please? Please? Please?”

“Come on, Mycroft, how can you turn down a kid who asks like that?” Greg smiled, talking loudly enough to be heard clearly over Claire’s litany of begging. “You’ve been working for hours; surely you’re entitled to an afternoon off.”

“Really, I must attend to certain matters. I couldn’t possibly…” Mycroft trailed off as Claire grasped his face in her hands and began pulling his head up and down in an emphatic nod while chanting, “Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.”

“Tell you what,” Greg interrupted, “why don’t you head home for a few hours, get some rest, and then come back round about noon? That way Claire and I can get sorted out here, and then we’ll all have lunch and have a day out. What do you say?”

Claire had now stopped with her more forceful attempts at securing Mycroft’s agreement, instead turning to him with a pout and blinking her eyelashes at him.

Mycroft sighed in resignation. “Alright. Fine. You win. I will join you this afternoon.”

“YAY!” Claire exclaimed and gave him a brief hug before snagging the last biscuit off the plate and dashing into the guest room.

Greg watched her go and chuckled. Turning back to Mycroft, he grinned. “I knew you weren’t going to be able to say no once she started in. Seriously though, thanks for your concern. We did alright, though I wasn’t quite prepared for how early the little monster was going to wake up. And the scones…didn’t really see that coming either.”

Mycroft chuckled and stood up. “Please do let me know if you need anything that I might be able to provide. I’m pleased to see how happy Claire appears this morning. I must admit, it was precisely what I needed after the rather disheartening meeting I had last night.”

“Well good, I’m glad. Let’s hope we can continue all the good feelings through the afternoon, too. Lord knows that Claire deserves a break and some time just to feel like kid again. And who knows…maybe that’s what you and I need too.”

“Perhaps it is, Gregory. Perhaps it is.” Mycroft agreed quietly, before standing and straightening his jacket as he moved toward the front door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

As Greg closed the door behind him, he couldn’t help but smile.

 

 _______________________________________________________________________________

 

The second time Mycroft climbed the stairs to Greg’s flat, he felt much more composed. It was amazing what a few hours of rest, a shower, a fresh suit, and a few paracetamol could cure. He was also pleased to note that as he neared the door, the unmistakable smell of bacon was wafting into the hallway, and it was in no way accompanied by the smell of smoke.

As Greg answered the door and ushered him into the kitchen, Mycroft’s stomach growled loudly, much to his embarrassment.

“Guess you’re hungry, then?” Greg asked waving Mycroft over to sit at the table next to Claire. “We were, too, so I thought I’d start getting lunch ready before you got here.”

“I must admit that the offer of a bite to eat would not be amiss. I’m also pleased to see that the bacon has escaped the same unfortunate fate that the scones suffered at your hands.”

“Hey…I’m actually a fine cook, I’ll have you know.”

“Gregory, while you are surely a man of many talents, even you must admit that culinary prowess is not numbered among them.”

“I will not.” Greg huffed with a mischievous glint brightening his eyes. He turned his attention toward the sink, grabbed a towel, and starting drying the handful of dishes that were standing in the drying rack. “I’m just rubbish at cooking at seven o’clock in the morning! And anyway, it doesn’t take a culinary genius to be able to put together a few bacon butties. I would have starved to death years ago if I wasn’t able to do at least that.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft smirked. “It is reassuring, at least, to know that the stalwart men of the fire department will not need to make a visit to your flat before the day is through.”

Greg laughed and threw the damp towel at Mycroft, hitting him squarely in the chest.

“Really, Gregory.” Mycroft teased, plucking the towel out of his lap, “You shouldn’t set such a dreadful example. Throwing towels at your guests. Honestly, there are young, impressionable children present.”

“I would have thrown a towel at you too,” Claire chimed in with a grin.

“See!” Greg exclaimed, scooping Claire out of her chair and into his arms. “Claire’s on my side! That’ll show you!” She squealed with laugher as Greg spun her around in circles until they were both dizzy and breathless.

“Be that as it may, I would suggest that you turn the bacon before we have to scrape the charred remains of our lunch out of your skillet.” Mycroft smiled widely as Greg set Claire down abruptly and lunged for the pan.

Once she had regained her footing, Claire rejoined Mycroft at the table. “Don’t worry,” she whispered loudly, “there are still some biscuits left in the cupboard.”

“Oi!” Greg exclaimed as Mycroft and Claire began to snicker, trying hard to avoid each other’s eyes. “You two better stop that or I’ll eat all the bacon myself!” While Mycroft and Claire fought to compose themselves, Greg quickly put together a plate full of bacon butties, accompanied by an unhealthy portion of crisps.

After murmured words of appreciation for the food, the three tucked into their lunch. Greg found himself surprisingly comfortable with the sense of calm domesticity that had suddenly invaded his life. Claire was happily munching on crisps while swinging her legs freely under her chair and keeping up a quiet chatter of conversation with Boris, who was occupying the fourth chair at the table.  Mycroft certainly seemed quiet, Greg mused, but that was probably just down to a lack of sleep. Not that he could blame the man. Greg certainly was feeling the effects of too few hours of sleep as well, but it appeared that he while he was trying to hide under a veneer of enthusiasm, Mycroft was not. It was amazing; he thought with a small smile, that for all of their brilliance, neither Holmes seemed to have even the basic concepts of self-preservation, like eating and sleeping, within their grasp.

Mycroft was torn between relaxation and self-recrimination. It was unconscionable that he had allowed a child to insinuate herself so thoroughly in his mind. While the root cause of it was still painfully unclear, he could not help but feel drawn to her presence and perhaps, just slightly, overconcerned for her well-being. It was madness to think that his association with Claire could continue in any meaningful way, but that did not seem to abate the curl of discomfort in his chest when he thought about his future if he didn’t at least have some passing contact with her. She made him feel needed, in a wholly personal way that hadn’t been present in his life since his brother grew into his uncomfortable teen years, and their relationship had fallen apart. And it was comforting, in a way, to be needed in very simple terms, which was not at all like the manipulative battleground he faced each day at work.

And then there was Gregory. The man had the uncanny ability to get him to relax, even when it was against his better judgment. Mycroft found himself smiling more, laughing more in his presence, even going so far as allowing himself to tease and joke without the harsh edge of sarcasm that he typically hid behind. Gregory made him feel human again.

There it was. The crux of the issue. In these few moments, sitting in Gregory’s kitchen and joking with Claire, Mycroft realized what he had been missing. It wasn’t that he had never thought of having a spouse and family of his own, he just never put those ideals of his youth into practice. And now, at forty-two years old, he found he wanted to break out of the emotional fortress in which he’d locked himself, and give in to what he craved – what was right in front of him. A man to share his life with and a child to adore. It was so close, so painfully near, and yet so very, very far away. And it would continue as such. For a man in his position, with ever-present enemies, the family that he now realized just how badly he wanted, was too great a liability. He sighed in defeat and pushed his plate away slightly, his appetite gone.

“Mycroft? Is everything all right? You want me to make something else?”

Mycroft blinked in confusion at the concern in Greg’s voice. “I’m sorry?” he croaked, embarrassed that he’d drifted off in thought.  He could feel a blush creeping up his neck, one which he desperately hoped that Greg didn’t notice.

“I said, did you want me to make you something else? You don’t seem to be enjoying your sandwich, and I’m sure you haven’t eaten enough in the last few days to go without,” Greg prodded.

“Ah. No, Gregory, I’m quite alright. I just don’t seem to be as hungry as I thought. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“You don’t seem alright.”

Greg reached forward and pulled an orange from the fruit bowl in the center of the table and began peeling it.

“You did do, for a bit there. You actually seemed pretty relaxed and happy when you first got here. Then we sat down to eat, and now you’re brooding. “What is it? Can I help in any way?”

“Gregory, please, I’m fine. No need to fuss. Just rethinking my strategy on a few key points of conflict that I need to resolve. Nothing to concern yourself over.” _Liar_ , his mind supplied. _You just don’t want to admit that you want what you can’t have. What you’re not willing to make sacrifices to keep._

Mycroft sighed again when Greg placed the orange slices on his plate. “Here you go then. Eat this instead of the bacon. It will probably sit better than a bunch of greasy food anyway, especially when you’re wound up.”

“I’m not wound up.” Mycroft couldn’t help the petulant tone that had crept into his voice, his mask of indifference utterly shattered by his realization, and by the overwhelming force of two pairs of concerned eyes focused on him.

“Mycroft, please eat your lunch,” Claire urged, nudging the plate closer to him. “Then we can go do something fun this afternoon so you don’t have to think about your sad stuff.”

Mycroft turned toward her, his eyes widening in surprise. “My sad stuff?” he questioned.

“Uh huh… Greg’s right. You were happy when you got here and now you’re sad. So it’s our job to make sure that you stop thinking about your sad stuff, and get back to being happy again. But first,” she said sternly, pointing at his plate, “you need to eat your lunch.”

Mycroft smiled and affected an air of being duly chastised. “You’re right, my dear. Of course.”

As he picked up a slice of orange and made an overt show of taking a bite, Claire nodded encouragingly and turned her attention back to her lunch. When Gregory cleared his throat meaningfully, Mycroft turned to meet his gaze.

“I’ll leave you be, I promise,” Greg began hesitantly, “but please know that if you want to talk about anything, I’m here to listen, yeah?”

“Thank you, Gregory. I appreciate the sentiment.”

The look that Greg leveled in his direction appeared outwardly to be one of casual encouragement, much like the one he received from Claire, but underneath the surface, Mycroft saw a firm resolve to get to the bottom of what was troubling him. It was evident that this conversation was not at an end, just temporarily on hold.

“So, Claire, what do you think we should do to cheer Mycroft up?” Greg asked, finishing up the last few bites of his meal.

“I do not need to be cheered up. I am perfectly fine. I was simply distracted for moment, that’s all,” Mycroft protested with a frown.

Claire stood up from her chair and crawled up into Mycroft’s lap. She turned to face him and poked her finger into his chest. “You have a frowny face again, you know. That means you need to be cheered up. So no more arguing, got it?”

“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” Mycroft asked.

“Nope.” Claire and Greg both said at the same time, which caused another round of laughter to fill the room. As she laughed, Claire rested her forehead against Mycroft’s chest and he found himself joining in, despite his somewhat somber mood.

“I know!” Claire exclaimed, sitting up straight and grabbing Mycroft’s shoulders. “I think we should go to the zoo! ‘Cause no one can be sad when they see monkeys!”

Greg laughed at her enthusiasm, though he secretly agreed with her assessment. “I’d be up for going to the zoo. What do you think, Mycroft?”

“I have no chance of winning in this either, I suppose?

“No. You lose this one, too. We’re going to see the monkeys!” Claire slid off Mycroft’s lap and began to hop up and down next to his chair. “Monkeys, monkeys, monkeys!”

“Well then, I believe the majority will rule in this matter as well. Monkeys it is.” Mycroft replied with a bemused smirk.

“Well, now that’s decided, why don’t you run along and get cleaned up, and then get your shoes on,” Greg directed. “And don’t forget your jumper!” he called, laughing as Claire skittered off towards the guest bedroom.

“I cannot believe that you are making me go to the zoo, Gregory,” Mycroft complained as soon as Claire was out of earshot.

“I’m not making you, Mycroft. Claire is. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the kid, would you?”

“That is a cruel argument, and you know it. I must say, I’m a bit disappointed that you would stoop to such levels to make your point.”

“Yeah, well, no one ever said that the Lestrade’s played fair,” Greg replied with a grin.

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

“Okay, I’m ready!” Claire exclaimed, sliding around the corner into the kitchen and skidding to a stop in front of Greg.

“Great! Now you just have to convince Mycroft that he can’t wear a three-piece suit to the zoo.”

Mycroft stood abruptly and tugged his waistcoat down with a huff. “Really now, I must protest. Isn’t it enough that I am being dragged to the zoo against my will? You cannot honestly expect me to change my clothing as well!”

“You don’t have to change, Mycroft,” Claire soothed. “Just take off your coat, and your tie, and probably your waistcoat too. Then you’ll be fine!”

“You expect me to go out of this flat in nothing but my shirtsleeves?” Mycroft replied incredulously, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from his cuff.

“It’s not like we’re asking you to go out naked or anything,” Greg responded with a chuckle. “You have to admit that wearing a three-piece suit is just a tad overdressed for a day at the zoo. Surely you can leave your battle gear behind for an afternoon, can’t you?”

“Gregory,” Mycroft responded quietly, a plea for understanding clear in his stormy blue eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Greg placated, knowing that he shouldn’t push Mycroft further. “How about you just leave your jacket instead?”

Claire walked over and took Mycroft’s hand in hers. “Please?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

“Fine.” Mycroft dropped Claire’s hand, and shrugged out of his jacket. He made a great show of placing it just so over the back of the armchair. “I suppose the compromise is acceptable. But don’t think for one moment that I am going to continue to allow the two of you to goad me into further acquiescence.”

Claire narrowed her eyes in confusion before glancing at Greg for clarification.

“He means that he isn’t going to keep letting us get our way,” Greg translated, looking over at Mycroft with a sympathetic grin.

“Oh, okay. You can win the next one, I promise. Pinky swear?” she said holding up her finger to Mycroft.

“Indeed,” he responded with a smile, hooking his long finger in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, two chapters in one week!  
> You can all thank my awesome beta, lyricalsoul, who was super speedy getting her notes back to me. AND she saved me from an embarrassing pants disaster!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monkeys, pizza, and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The place that they visit is the Meet the Monkeys exhibit at the London Zoo. You should look it up...seems pretty awesome.
> 
> Also, thanks to my beta, lyrical soul, I've apparently gotten better at punctuating conversations. Now I just need to figure out semicolons! :-)

Greg never thought he would be so excited at the prospect of a trip to the London Zoo. Granted, he was more excited by the prospect of seeing Claire bounce around in giddy enthusiasm, and Mycroft _finally_ relax a bit than he was at the prospect of seeing any of the animals, but still. This was something that he never had expected to have in his life, and even if it was only temporary, he was damn well going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Greg insisted that they take a standard-issue taxi, rather than Mycroft’s sleek black town car. It wasn’t that Mycroft hadn’t offered – he had, and rather loudly. But when Greg simply shook his head and told him that they were going to have a day out on the town ‘like normal people,’ Mycroft capitulated graciously and only wrinkled his nose slightly as he slid into the back seat of the cab. Greg would have laughed had he not been so sure that the combination of the imposed “casual” dress code and the unexpected mode of transportation had made the man ill at ease, even if he wasn’t demonstrably so. If they were better friends, Greg would have teased, but since he didn’t want to spoil the mood, he bit his tongue and ignored Mycroft’s slight wince as the cab went over a pothole.

In any case, Mycroft had proven himself quite adaptable and taken up the mantel of informal tour guide, pointing out buildings of interest, and telling anecdotes about the history of the city. He answered Claire’s questions, random and overly enthusiastic as they were, with patience and encouragement.

As the midday traffic provided them with a leisurely meander through the city, Greg found himself feeling more content than he had in years. Since his divorce actually, if he were to put a timeframe on it. Greg shook his head at the thought and chuckled lightly, causing Mycroft to glance up and offer a knowing smile. When he only smiled in return and tipped his head towards Claire, who was expounding on the exciting virtues of allowing penguins to run loose in the city, Mycroft’s eyes danced in amusement and turned his attention back to the girl.

When the cab pulled up to the main entrance of the zoo, Claire was vibrating with excitement. She turned to Mycroft with a broad smile. “I can’t believe we’re really here! It’s so cool!”

“I’m pleased that you are so excited about your inaugural visit,” he replied, amusement evident in voice.

Claire looked at him, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It means that this is your first visit,” Greg chimed in with a hint of surprise. “You’ve never been to the zoo before, Claire?”

Claire bit her lip and shook her head, looking suddenly unsure and not nearly as excited as she had moments before. “I only heard some of the kids in my class talk about it. My mum said she didn’t feel good enough to take me, and then…she…you know… And nobody else took me either…” she trailed off quietly.

“Well then,” Mycroft interjected, opening the car door with a flourish and a touch too much false enthusiasm, “it’s time we remedy that situation.” He leaned forward to pay the fare and then reached for Claire’s hand and pulling her out of the car behind him. “Since it is your first visit, it means that you get to be in charge of our activities for the day. What would you have us do first?”

“MONKEYS!” Enthusiasm restored, she began tugging Mycroft toward the entrance.

Greg laughed as he joined them. “You do realize that the monkeys are all the way on the other side of the park from us, right?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Do you have some previously unmentioned primate triangulation skills that I am unaware of, Gregory, or was that just a lucky guess?” Mycroft teased as Claire took Greg’s hand as well and started swinging her arms.

“Not exactly,” Greg returned with a grin, “I just happen to be an outstanding uncle and have two nephews who both went through a ‘monkeys are cool’ stage. I spent a lot of time chasing the two little buggers around this place.”

“Then Claire shall be our event planner and you shall be our guide.” Mycroft looked down at Claire. “Does that suit you, my dear?”

“Does that mean I still get to be in charge? And that Greg’s going make sure we don’t get lost?” she asked.

“It does indeed.”

“Then yay! That’s awesome!” Claire cried, hopping up and down in excitement.

 

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Mycroft had always considered his younger brother to be an anomaly in his youth, having spent countless hours trying to pull his attention away from whatever single-minded quest that took his fancy. But as he was pulled down the path to the monkey enclosure by an exceedingly determined Claire, he realized that perhaps Sherlock was not as unique in that regard as he had once thought. While Greg kept up an admirable effort to try to point out interesting animals along the way, Claire invariably responded, “Not a monkey,” and carried on her way as though there was no interruption at all. By his fifth attempt, Claire had just sighed and rolled her eyes at him. Mycroft was sure that Greg was now just teasing Claire to see what type of response he could garner, but he found himself laughing nonetheless.

Companionship and laughter and ridiculousness merged together into a pool of warmth that filled his chest allowed the stress of the previous three days to loosen its hold on his body. This was easy. It was reassuring. And while he knew that it was fleeting and that he would have to pull the walls of indifference around himself sooner than he would like, Mycroft decided to allow himself this day. One day, surrounded by the two individuals who had provided him a respite from his daily routine, before locking these troublesome emotions away again. One day to be the man that he was in his farthest flung hopes.

“Mycroft,” Greg called, breaking into his thoughts gently, “you’re brooding again. Leave whatever it is that you’re strategizing about, and join us in the real world for a bit, would you?”

He met Greg’s eyes with a slightly embarrassed smile and nodded. “You’re right, of course. My apologies, Gregory.”

“Don’t apologize. Whatever it is that’s on your mind it will still be there in a few hours. Leave it for a while, and maybe some of the details will sort themselves out for you. Or at least get you to a point that you want to talk about it, yeah? Besides, we are almost at the monkey exhibit, and I’m fairly certain we’ll have our hands full at that point.”

“Oh my god, I can see them!” Claire dropped her hold on their hands and dashed forward to the edge of the enclosure.

“Wait!” Greg jogged up to catch Claire’s hand in his own. “No running off, you! You’ve got to wait for us to come with you, yeah?”

“Oops. Sorry…but…it’s just…monkeys!”

Mycroft followed, shaking his head at her enthusiasm.

“Mycroft, look! Monkeys!” Claire grabbed his hand and waved her free arm around wildly. “And there aren’t even any cages around them! Now you can’t be sad any more!”

Mycroft smiled. “You have found a wonderful way to distract me from my somber thoughts, my dear. You are quite right; it is exceedingly difficult to feel morose when I am in the presence of your good company and our primate companions.”

Claire looked up at him in confusion. “Huh?”

“I like the monkeys, Claire,” Mycroft deadpanned.

 Greg snorted in amusement.

“Good! Now let’s go find some more to watch!” Claire skipped down the trail in search of more monkeys, her dark curls bouncing.

Greg smiled and shook his head as they followed. “Wouldn’t it be nice if everything in our lives could be solved so easily?”

“Indeed, Gregory. Perhaps I need to remember this solution the next time the Finance Committee comes to loggerheads. I am quite convinced that it would be nearly impossible to argue about the devaluation of the pound if the meeting were being held here among our simian compatriots.” Mycroft grinned and shook his head at the thought.

“The whole of the British Government, moved to the London Zoo for meetings. God, can you imagine the headlines?” Greg laughed loudly and clapped Mycroft on the shoulder.

“The comparisons the press would draw are likely far more apt that I would care to admit,” Mycroft returned, chuckling.

They regained their composure as Claire stomped back towards them. “Are you two done?” she demanded, coming to a stop with her hands on her hips. “There are monkeys all over the place, and all you’re doing is talking to each other. How is that even fun?”

“You got us, kiddo. Talking to Mycroft is definitely not as much fun as checking out the monkeys with you.” Greg shot Mycroft an apologetic smile and reached out his hand towards Claire. “Why don’t we go see what we can find, and Mycroft can follow us, yeah?”

Claire took his hand and began pulling him away, intent on showing Greg the error of his ways. “This one over here is super cute and he doesn’t even run away when you get close!”

Mycroft shook his head and smiled, watching the two of them wander off toward the black-capped squirrel monkeys that filled the enclosure.

“She’s beautiful,” a voice said from over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry?” He turned, meeting the kind gaze of a young mother, her toddling son exploring a few feet away.

“Your daughter,” she replied, nodding her head in Claire’s direction, “she’s a lovely little girl. Seems like a lot of fun.”

“Ah. While I agree that she is a lovely child, she, unfortunately, is not my daughter.”

“Really?” the woman asked in surprise. “You all seem so comfortable together, I just assumed that you were with your partner and your child. My apologies.”

“There’s no need to apologise. It was a reasonable enough assumption, given our appearance and location. We are, in fact, only babysitting for the day.” Why he felt compelled to clarify the nature of his association with Claire and Gregory to a complete stranger was beyond him, yet he found himself making the careful distinction nonetheless.

“Well, you’re a natural parent. You’ll be great at it if you ever find yourself with children of your own in future,” she said with an encouraging smile before hurrying off to catch hold of her son before he wandered too far.

A natural parent. Mycroft was absolutely certain that such a ridiculous sentiment had never before been associated with him. It probably would never be again, Mycroft thought with no small measure of disappointment. He walked quickly to rejoin Claire and Greg, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

“Friend of yours?” Greg asked, nodding in the young woman’s direction, as Mycroft came to a stop beside him.

“No, not at all.” Mycroft turned to watch her again, a small wrinkle of confusion between his brows. “She erroneously thought Claire was our daughter, and informed me that I was, quote, a natural parent.”

“You are.”

“Gregory, please, there is no need to bolster my ego with falsehoods. I am many things, but a natural parent, I am not.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you. Claire’s certainly quite fond of you.”

“Be that as it may, it is more likely that she is simply responding favorably to her current, albeit temporary, lodgings. She is much more relaxed after having spent the night in your company, and her apparent goodwill toward me is surely nothing more than result of her good mood.”

“That’s a load of crap and we both know it, Mycroft. Claire picked you out as a friend that very first night at the crime scene and she hasn’t let up since. Don’t pretend that you are thick; it isn’t flattering,” Greg admonished fiercely, his eyes shining in challenge.

“You’re talking again,” Claire sing-songed from where she was following a monkey down the trail. “You’re supposed to be looking at the monkeys, remember? I say so, and I’m in charge.”

“Yes, yes, we’re coming. Lead on, MacDuff.” Mycroft called, walking quickly away from the suddenly tense conversation. When Greg joined them again, the moment seemed to have passed.

 

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Greg was surprised. Surprised and exhausted. Who would have thought that an afternoon at the zoo could make him feel so knackered? And who would have thought Mycroft Holmes could be so much fun?

Claire had spent a good hour and a half personally introducing them to every monkey she could find. Greg and Mycroft had both played along, telling each monkey their names and asking them questions that made Claire giggle when the monkeys tipped their little heads in response to their voices. The questions became more and more ridiculous as the afternoon wore on. And then, out of the blue, he had seen Mycroft actually bow to a monkey in greeting. When Claire screamed with laughter and Mycroft scooped her up into his arms with laugh, Greg lost his composure entirely. The whole group had to find a bench to sit on until they could get their giggling under control.

Convinced that no other animal in the zoo could possibly enthrall Claire the way the monkeys had, Greg had anticipated a fairly quick jaunt through the rest of the exhibits. That theory was completely on point until Claire had discovered the aardvarks. Declared “the bestest animal in the whole wide world,” Claire spent at least another hour watching them root around their enclosure, and made Mycroft read all of the informational signs to her three times. The only thing that had pried her attention away from the animals at all was that Mycroft promised that he would buy her a plush aardvark from the gift shop before they left. Greg just laughed when Claire managed to convince him to buy her a plush monkey as well, not that she had to work very hard at it. Mycroft was surprisingly giving with Claire, his cool façade completely nonexistent where she was concerned. And he was fairly relaxed around Greg too, making conversation and joking lightly throughout the day. He was still brooding on something, Greg was sure, but it seemed after a few flare ups, Mycroft had left it alone and allowed himself to enjoy the afternoon. And now, at Mycroft’s insistence, the three of them were off to dinner. It seemed that when the man behind the British Government took a day off, he went all in. Not that Greg was complaining.

When the cab pulled up to a small nondescript restaurant tucked in between two massive buildings, Greg was pleasantly surprised. As he helped Claire from the car and tucked an errant curl behind her ear, Greg turned to Mycroft with a smile.

“Wow. This is well…absolutely nothing like I was expecting.”

Mycroft arched his eyebrow. “Did you assume we would have an evening of fine dining with a five year old? Honestly, Gregory, even I know that would have been an unmitigated disaster.” Mycroft adjusted his cuffs and narrowed his eyes. “Besides, I’m hardly dressed for a finer establishment, due to someone’s insistence.”

“Not going to let up on the whole suit thing are you?”

“Not yet, apparently,” Mycroft replied with a smirk. “In any case, I think you’ll enjoy this place. They have the best pizza to be had outside of Napoli itself.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Greg replied, as Claire shouted, “Yay, pizza!”

“And how is it that you, the king of fine dining, know about a little hole-in-the-wall pizza place?”

“If you must know, pizza, or more specifically, excellent pizza, is a bit of a guilty pleasure.” Mycroft blushed lightly as he ushered Claire and Greg through the door. “I’ll admit that it is not the healthiest of meals, but after particularly arduous days, I find myself able to overlook that fact quite readily.”

“Well, if it tastes even half as good as it smells, you will have probably ruined me for a quick takeaway slice for the rest of my life.” A closet pizza lover… yet another revelation about Mycroft that Greg didn’t expect. It was becoming more and more apparent that behind the mask, Mycroft was a much different man than he appeared.

As their dinner progressed, Mycroft was pleased to learn that Claire’s earlier insistence that he and Gregory limit their conversation to ‘not boring’ topics apparently no longer applied. She seemed quite content to pick apart her slice of pizza so that she could eat it in layers, and once she had had her fill, she had turned her attention to some sort of a game that involved folding her napkin into a tent and walking her cutlery back and forth in front of it. In the interim, he and Greg had found that they shared a number of interests including a fondness for football, an affinity toward jazz, and an intense dislike of Graham Norton. Just as they were discussing the relative merits of the piano stylings of Thelonious Monk versus McCoy Tyner, Claire let out a huge yawn before rubbing her eyes.

“Uh oh, looks like someone is starting to get tired.” Greg placed his napkin on the table next to his plate and looked to Mycroft. “Would you like to come back to mine so that you can say goodnight to Claire?”

Mycroft paused momentarily, surprised at the ease in which Greg continued to invite him to share his time with them. “I find that I would like that quite a lot, Gregory. Thank you for inviting me.”

As he was about to grapple over the bill with Mycroft, Greg was distracted by Claire tugging on his sleeve.

“Could we watch a film for a bit?” she asked, yawning again.

 “Um…I’m not really sure I have any films that you’d like,” Greg stalled, while quickly scanning his mental inventory of films in his flat. “I think I might have Cars or The Incredibles…I can’t remember what my nephews left the last time they visited.”

“I saw The Incredibles once. I liked that one.” Claire looked up at him hopefully. “Can we please watch that one?”

“Sure, if I have it. And only if you get changed into your pyjamas when we get back to the flat. You can snuggle in on the couch with a blanket. Deal?”

“Deal!” Claire smiled broadly and then moved to take Mycroft’s hand. “You’ll like the film, Mycroft. It’s got superheroes! And I’m going to stay up and watch the whole thing!”

“I’m sure I will enjoy it, Claire, especially since it has your shining recommendation to accompany it.” Mycroft smiled and nudged her toward the door, noting that even her steps had grown heavier with fatigue. He shared a conspiratorial grin with Greg, both men knowing full well that the little girl would likely make it only a few minutes past the opening credits before falling asleep.

 

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

True to her word, Claire happily changed into her pyjamas and allowed Greg to build her a nest of pillows and blankets that took up the lion’s share of the couch. Mycroft sat the opposite end, a plush aardvark in his lap, as he was charged by Claire to ‘keep him warm’. Greg was similarly adorned, the plush monkey accompanying him to his seat in the leather armchair. Claire chattered happily as the credits rolled, but to no one’s surprise, drifted off to sleep scarcely more than fifteen minutes into the film. What Mycroft found more surprising, was that Greg seemed to have suffered a similar fate. His head had lolled back against the back of the chair, and he was snoring softly, the plush monkey wrapped tightly in his arms. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Mycroft allowed his companions to rest uninterrupted for another half an hour while he sorted through the day’s events. He had had a surprising amount of fun on their outing. Greg had proven to be a witty conversationalist, and an enthusiastic babysitter. And Claire…well she had behaved precisely how he expected a five year old to behave. Alight with energy, curiosity, and the unwavering conviction that she was correct in all things. All in all, Claire and Gregory had made great strides calming his frayed nerves, and while he was also quite tired, he found himself unwilling to leave the comfort of their company so soon.

When Claire began shifting in her sleep, trying to find a more comfortable position, Mycroft stood with a resigned sigh. It seemed that his good fortune was coming to an end. He gathered Claire in his arms, blankets and all, and moved down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

After switching on the bedside lamp, Mycroft settled Claire into her bed. As he was smoothing down the blankets, Claire blinked her eyes open tiredly. “Is the film over?”

“It is for you, my dear. It’s time for you to go to sleep. Close your eyes.” Mycroft brushed the curls away from her forehead and settled Boris in her arms.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?” she asked, sleep slurring her words together.

“I’m afraid not. Unfortunately, there is work I must attend to that I cannot put off any longer.” Mycroft regretted having to disappoint her, but his excuse was in no way a falsehood. By spending the day with Claire and Greg he had neglected his post-meeting duties far too long already.

“But…um…When will I see you again?”

Even in her sleepy state, Mycroft could hear the edge of desperation behind Claire’s question. He looked down, and was saddened to see the slight hint of fear in her eyes.

“I will be sure to see you again in a few days.”

“How many days?”

“Let’s say four, shall we?” Mycroft made a mental note to ask Anthea to clear his afternoon for the coming Wednesday. “That will give you the opportunity to settle in at the new care home, and me a chance to take care of some unfinished business.”

“Do you promise?” Claire asked hopefully.

“I promise.”

“Good.” Claire nodded once in affirmation before burrowing down into the blankets. “Goodnight, My,” she mumbled before drifting off to sleep again.

Mycroft smiled at the nickname. “Goodnight, Claire,” he whispered, resting his hand lightly on her cheek before standing up and leaving the room.

Greg stirred at the sound of Mycroft’s footsteps returning to the living room.

“What happened? Did I fall asleep?” Greg asked, pulling himself into a more upright position in his chair.

“You did indeed. It seems that both of you were rather tired from our excursions today.”

“Oh Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to nod off on you there.” Greg rubbed his face and then glanced around the room. “Where’s Claire?”

“In bed. I just tucked her in for the night.” Mycroft paused for a moment near the doorway, looking slightly unsure.  “I should probably take my leave so that you can get some rest as well.”

“You don’t have to do that. Really.” Greg scrambled to his feet and nodded toward the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

“I really shouldn’t keep you. You’ve had a busy day, there’s no reason for you to feel as though you need to continue entertaining me.” The offer was sorely tempting, but it was clear to him that Gregory was in need of rest.

“Please, Mycroft, stay for a cuppa. Let’s talk for a bit where we don’t have to worry about what Claire might overhear. Please?”

“Alright. One cup, and then I must be off.”

Greg smiled and moved into the kitchen to put on the kettle. “Just grab a seat on the couch and I’ll be right in,” he called over his shoulder.

When Greg returned with two mugs of tea, he handed a cup to Mycroft and settled at the opposite end of the couch. “Today was good, yeah?”

“Yes, it was. It was indeed. It has been quite a long time since I have so enjoyed a day off work. Thank you for including me.” Mycroft sipped his tea and stifled a sigh.

“Enough of that now, you don’t have to thank me. Claire was thrilled to have you there, and so was I.”

“While I did find the monkeys enthralling, I enjoyed the human company more.” Mycroft looked up at Greg with a warm smile.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. You’re certainly a better conversationalist then they are. At least when you’re not trying to solve the world’s problems.”

“I do apologize for my momentary periods of distraction today, Gregory. It was not my intent to appear rude; it’s simply that my regard for other’s responses tends to suffer slightly when I am fatigued.” Mycroft still didn’t want to discuss what had been troubling him throughout the day, but it seemed that the conversation would not be put to rest until Gregory had at least some idea of what it was. “I’ve simply come to realize that some aspects of my life, as they sit currently, are untenable as a long term solution.”

“That’s an awful lot of words to tell me that you’ve decided to make some changes in your life,” Greg teased and took another sip of his tea.

“That is not exactly what I am saying. I do not intend to make changes to effect my current state of affairs; however, I do feel it necessary to change the manner in which I bestow a measurement of value upon certain aspects.”

“Do you do that on purpose? Trying to talk circles around someone so they can’t get to the bottom of what you’re saying? Mycroft, c’mon, it’s me. We’ve been talking just fine all day. Don’t start muddying the waters by trying to double talk me. Say it plain.”

“Fine,” Mycroft snapped, albeit with less malice than would normally accompany such an accusation. “I have spent the better portion of my day reevaluating the importance of routine, isolation, and an all-encompassing work schedule, as it pertains to my life. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Yes. Now was that so hard?” Greg asked with a raised eyebrow. “And what have you decided on those subjects?”

“I…” Mycroft sighed. “I do not know. I confess that I have only recently realized that my life was somewhat out of balance, and I have not determined the proper course of action to alleviate the situation.”

“Could be that you’re overthinking it a bit. What does your gut say?”

“Gregory, please. If I am going to make any adjustments to my lifestyle, I would be much more encouraged to know that they were based in logic rather than an emotional response to a singular situation.”

“That’s because you’re pulling  a Holmes and overthinking it. You shouldn’t dismiss your gut instincts, Mycroft. They happen for a reason. Gotten me out of a jam on more than one occasion, let me tell you.”

“I’m sure that it has, Gregory, and your instincts are likely well-honed to provide protection, given your profession. However, in my case, reacting to a threat based solely on an emotional response would be extremely detrimental.” Mycroft could feel the formality seeping back, not only in his words, but in his posture as well.

“Is that what you consider your emotions to be? A threat?”

“In many cases, yes.”

Greg frowned and rubbed his hand through his hair, causing it to spike messily. “So what was it then? What made you rethink your life?”

“Considering that all of this just came into being within the last three days, I’m quite sure you can determine the catalyst for yourself, Gregory.” Mycroft knew his temper was rising, but he couldn’t quite catch it before the anger bled into his words. He disliked speaking about emotion in any sense, but when they were discussing his own, he was even more defensive.

“The kid got under your skin, did she? Seems to be a pretty common problem.” Greg quirked a smile in Mycroft’s direction, trying to show that he was not alone in his feelings. “It’s a shame that she’s going back to a care home tomorrow. I kind of like having her around.”

“I can see that you are going to miss her, Gregory. And I can’t say that I blame you. You are correct in your determination that young Claire does indeed have a way of interfering with one’s emotional state.”  Mycroft found himself rolling his mug of tea between his palms, trying tamp down his emotions before they got out of hand. “For what it’s worth, I will personally look into her next placement, and ensure that the carer’s credentials are of unquestionable quality.”

“Oh, I know you will. I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’m just going to miss her, you know?” Greg frowned at his mug.

“I know,” Mycroft said quietly, taking another sip of his tea.

Greg sighed. “Well…it’s not like we can change it, right? Neither of us are in any position to take care of a kid, so it’s not as though she could stay. Even if we both started brooding and reassessing our priorities.” Greg smiled up at Mycroft, encouraging him to share in the slight joke.

Mycroft smiled. “No. Certainly not.” Logically, Mycroft agreed with Greg, though his heart was decidedly not in it.

“You’ll let me know where she gets placed so that I can visit her a few times? You know, just to make sure she’s settling in?”

“Of course.”

“And what about you? You’re going to see her too, right?”

Mycroft nodded, “Indeed. Claire and I have already made arrangements to see each other later this week.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” Greg tried to inject a bit of enthusiasm into his response, but it still came out flat.

“Gregory, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that this situation has to end this way.” Mycroft looked up, meeting Greg’s warm brown eyes and smiled sadly.

“I know. Me, too.” Greg shook his head, trying to rid himself of the maudlin thoughts. “But we’ll visit her, and maybe take her to the zoo again, and it’ll be fine, right?”

Mycroft nodded, before swallowing the rest of his tea. “A sound plan. And now, I’m afraid that I must depart. You look exhausted, and I’d be lying if I tried to convince you that I was not tired as well. It’s been an eventful day, and we could both use the rest.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll just see you out.” Greg set his unfinished mug of tea on the coffee table and stood up. He darted into the kitchen and retrieved Mycroft’s suit jacket from where he’d left it earlier in the day.

“Here you go. Wouldn’t want you to leave without your armour.” Greg smiled as he handed it over.

“Thank you, Gregory. I feel more myself already,” Mycroft teased lightly as he shrugged into the jacket. “I really did have a delightful time today. Thank you again.”

“Yeah, it was good. You’ll let me know if there is anything that comes up with the background check on the next carer for Claire, yeah?”

“Of course. I shall be in touch should there be anything amiss. You have my word.”

“Great. Thanks.” Greg offered his hand to Mycroft as he pulled open the door. “Goodnight, Mycroft.”

“Goodnight, Gregory.” Mycroft gave him a warm smile and shook Greg’s hand, holding it slightly longer than was strictly necessary, before moving out the door and down the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise discussions are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on getting this chapter out. It was surprisingly difficult for me to write and then real life interfered for both me and my beta. Chapter 8 is coming along, but it too, is being a bit difficult at the moment.
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, lyricalsoul, who kindly offered support through my writing angst and made me laugh with her Mystrade headcanons!

Greg groaned as he sank into the chair outside Emily Wilcox’s office. After spending the last three days running between two crime scenes and his office, the last thing he wanted to be doing was waiting on Claire’s social worker. Claire had requested his presence for morale support because she was meeting her new carers today, and he knew that regardless of how tired he was, he would never have dreamed of saying no to her.

 

He glanced at his watch as he heard footsteps from the hallway, hoping that it was Emily, who was out collecting Claire from school when he arrived, rather than the new family who would be taking Claire. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to meeting the people who would have the power to remove Claire from his presence entirely if they chose to. Still, he steeled himself against the worst case scenario and forced a cordial smile to his features in preparation to meeting them.

 

The forced smile turned genuine when it was Mycroft who rounded the corner into the waiting area, and Greg stood up to meet him, offering his hand.

 

“Mycroft, what a surprise! I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Did Claire request you too?”

 

Mycroft smiled slightly and shook Greg’s hand. “In a manner of speaking...”

 

“In a manner of speaking? What does that mean?” Greg maintained his hold on Mycroft’s hand while he assessed him. Mycroft seemed tense, but not unfriendly. It was almost as though he was unsure of himself, which was such an incongruous thought that Greg very nearly laughed. Squeezing Mycroft’s hand slightly, he asked, “Are you okay?”

 

Any thoughts Greg had about Mycroft’s lack of confidence were quickly dismissed as Mycroft nodded and extracted his hand, immediately rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin slightly.

 

“I assure you that I am fine, Gregory. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

 

“So…” Greg paused, his brow furrowing, “’In a manner of speaking?’”

 

“The simplest answer to your question is yes, Claire did request my presence here. I did not expect to see you here as well.”

 

Greg frowned. Mycroft was definitely hedging about something. Why must the Holmeses always be so damned difficult?He had quite enough of dealing with Sherlock’s evasiveness over the last few days, and certainly wasn’t going to go down that road with Mycroft as well. “Yeah, well, Emily said Claire was nervous about meeting the new family and wanted me to be here. Obviously, I couldn’t say no to that. But you said that was the simplest answer…so what’s the complicated one?” Greg prodded.

 

“She was not the only person who requested my presence at this meeting. Ms. Wilcox did so as well.”

 

There it was again. That glimmer of uncertainty in Mycroft’s features. It was nothing concrete or obvious, but Greg couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about the situation that he wasn’t in on. “Really? Is there something wrong the new family? You told me you’d let me know if anything weird came up in the background check.”

 

“And I would have, Gregory, as I said,” Mycroft interrupted. “There is nothing amiss with the new carer’s credentials.”

 

Greg forced himself to stand still, though the urge to start pacing was becoming harder to ignore. This whole thing seemed strange, and it was obvious that Mycroft had an inside track, but was doing his damnedest to be as vague as possible.

 

Greg slipped into interrogation mode, his voice firm and sharp. “Alright Mycroft, out with it. I don’t like being in the dark and you know more than you’re telling me. So what is it? Who are these people?”

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at Greg’s tone. “Gregory, there is no reason to take that tone, nor is there a reason for you to assert your protective nature. I told you once before that I would not allow any harm to come to Claire and I am a man of my word.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, Mycroft, but you still aren’t telling me anything. Who are they?” Mycroft was preparing for battle, that much was obvious, and Greg felt a flare of nerves roil in his gut.

 

“It’s me.”

 

Greg’s jaw dropped. “You...I mean…I…What?”

 

“I am taking custody of Claire.” Mycroft’s eyes never wavered from Greg’s as the tension between them ratcheted up a few notches.

 

“You’re taking custody of Claire? You?” Greg clamped his mouth shut abruptly and swallowed hard when he realized what he had just said.

 

“Repeating myself is quite tedious.” Mycroft glanced down at his nails, then back at Lestrade. “Do keep up.”

 

“Mycroft, are you serious? I mean, taking on a kid is a huge responsibility. You told me you didn’t have time for that kind of thing.” Greg found himself settling into an argument that he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to be having. It wasn’t that he didn’t think that Mycroft was capable of caring for Claire, but changing his mind that drastically in only a few days certainly didn’t seem like something Mycroft would normally do.

 

“I would remind you, that you suggested the arrangement. Are you suddenly so unsure of my abilities to provide for a child that you are rescinding your earlier recommendation?” Try as he might to appear unfazed by Greg’s reaction, Mycroft was struggling to keep his cool demeanor intact. While he did not doubt his decision to allow Claire into his life, he found himself desiring Greg’s approval more than he would have expected.

 

“Listen, mate, I’m not saying that. It’s just…sudden. The Mycroft I talked to a few nights ago never would have made a decision like this, so what changed? And how in the bloody hell did you organize all of this in four days? The paperwork alone takes longer than that!”

 

A muscle twitched at the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, and Greg could see some of the tension starting to drain away. “The paperwork was the least of my concerns. Interviewing nannies, on the other hand, was an endeavor that I would not wish upon even the worst of my enemies. Harrowing, to say the least.”

 

Mycroft offered a small smile by way of détente. “In response to your more pressing question – what changed my mind – the answer is you. At least in part.”

 

Greg blinked. “Me?”

 

Mischief sparkled in Mycroft’s eyes as he arched an eyebrow in response. “You are a very persuasive man, Gregory.” Mycroft took a deep breath before continuing, “I am not a man who makes decisions lightly, and I reverse them with even more hesitation. However, each time I found myself returning to thoughts of Claire, I also returned to your voice admonishing me not to turn my back on her. When I found myself faltering at the thought of welcoming a child into my life, I took comfort in the fact you felt that I possessed the skills necessary to be a successful parental figure, even if only temporarily.”

 

Greg had no response. Apparently Mycroft’s goal was to see how many times he could render him speechless in one conversation because there was no way he could have prepared himself for that statement. None whatsoever. “Mycroft…wow…I just…I really wasn’t expecting you to say something like that. That’s just…wow.”

 

Mycroft smiled shyly and glanced at his shoes. “In any case, once I determined that I would be extremely unhappy if I had to attend a meeting such as this and watch Claire leave with another family, my choice in the matter became clear. I realize that I am not a particularly effusive man, nor the obvious choice when it comes to parenting, but I find myself wholly unwilling to allow Claire to be settled into a home that will not provide her the support and care that she needs. And I am certain that I can provide that to her. As such, I have spent the last four days making the necessary arrangements to install myself as Claire’s temporary guardian.”

 

“Only temporarily?”

 

“For now, yes. The arrangement will be considered a temporary placement until such a time that it is determined that I have provided a stable home and that we are getting on with each other. Frustrating, but standard procedure, nonetheless.”

 

“So you don’t want this to be a temporary arrangement then?”

 

Mycroft met Greg’s eyes with a firmness that brooked no argument. “Gregory, if given the opportunity and the means to provide a child like Claire with a home, could you honestly see yourself one day handing her to someone else?”

 

“No. Never.”

 

“I find myself of a like mind. Barring some unforeseen circumstance, I fully intend for this to be the last placement that Claire will endure in her life. She has already experienced more loss than a child should ever be asked to bear.”

 

Greg reached out and placed his hand on Mycroft’s arm, squeezing firmly. “I’m glad Mycroft. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s brilliant. And I’m sure you and Claire will be good for each other.”

 

Greg grinned at the genuine smile that lit up Mycroft’s face. “So…nannies, huh? I would have thought someone like you would have found that easy since you spend all of your time dealing with politicians…and… well, Sherlock.”

 

“Oh god, Gregory, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, which can prepare you for facing down twenty women whose calling in life is to provide care for willful children. You have no idea…”

 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Mycroft! Greg! You came! You came! You came!”

 

The two men turned to see Claire running towards them as Emily hurried along to catch up. She flew into Mycroft’s arms first and then quickly turned to give Greg a hug as well.

 

“Of course we came, kiddo, you asked us to,” Greg replied, resting his hand on Claire’s shoulder as Emily motioned for them to follow her into her office.

 

“Good afternoon, gentleman. Please take a seat.” Emily waved toward the guest chairs distractedly as she gathered a folder from her desk.

 

Claire clambered up into Mycroft’s lap the moment he sat down. As she began telling them about her day at school, Mycroft tried to focus on what she was saying. She was saying something about a boy who ate a bug, and about how she didn’t like a girl named Sammie, but if he was honest, it was white noise that settled behind his more pressing thoughts about how to integrate this young child into his life.

 

He was nervous. Painfully so, though he would never show it, especially to Claire. She needed someone who was certain of what they were doing. Someone who could guide and comfort and nurture. Certainly not someone who had been so distracted with thoughts of redecorating a guest room into something more child appropriate, that he managed to burn his toast. Honestly, what type of parent would he be when he couldn’t even manage to make toast!

 

It wasn’t until Greg cleared his throat and nodded toward Claire with a frown that Mycroft realized just how far away he had drifted. Blinking quickly, Mycroft glanced over to him and then down to Claire who was looking up at him with a pout.

 

“I apologize, my dear, I seem to have missed your question. What is it that you were saying?”

 

“I said, I have to meet my new family today and I don’t want to.  What if they don’t like me?”

 

Mycroft tipped his head and smiled softly. “What if I could promise you that they will?”

 

“You can’t. You don’t know for sure and you can’t say things like that just so I won’t be scared. That’s not nice.” Claire frowned up at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

Mycroft looked over to Emily with a raised eyebrow, silently asking her permission to continue. When she nodded, Mycroft shifted slightly so she could face Claire directly.

 

“Claire, I have a very important question to ask you, and I’d like you to be very honest with me. Can you do that?”

 

_This is it. No turning back once you say it._

Mycroft could feel the stress bleeding into his shoulders and jaw.

 

_Oh God, what if she says no?_

He looked at Claire and swallowed tightly.

 

_Please, please don’t say no…_

As the tension in the room became palatable, Claire pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth with a solemn nod.

 

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Would you like to come live with me?” It came out as nearly a whisper, as though giving full voice to the words would somehow make them harder to agree to.

 

He could feel it the moment his words sunk in. Claire’s body began to shake in his arms and her eyes grew wide and filled with tears. “Do you really mean it?” she murmured.

 

“I do.” Mycroft took another breath, and continued in a much stronger voice, “I do, indeed. I know that I am, quite likely, not what you were expecting, certainly not in the traditional sense…but…if you’d allow me the chance…”

 

_Damn it man, pull yourself together here! Stop babbling. You sound like a fool!_

“Claire, please, I care about you a great deal and I would very much like to provide you with a home and I promise that I will…”

 

Claire pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping his words, before smiling widely. “I can’t say yes if you don’t stop talking!”

 

As a laugh bubbled up from Mycroft’s throat, he pulled Claire into a tight hug and pressed a kiss into her curls. “Thank you, my dear. You’ve made me very happy. Very, very happy.”

 

Claire let out a sigh and pressed her cheek into Mycroft’s chest. “Thank you for wanting me,” she whispered, as she relaxed into his embrace.

 

“Claire, you will always be wanted. You will always be loved.” Mycroft whispered his response into her ear, not because he was embarrassed by the sentiment, but because he needed her to hear his sincerity. She didn’t reply, just squeezed his hand and pressed against him a touch harder. Those words, in that moment, were just for them.

 

Greg didn’t know what Mycroft whispered to her, but it was obvious that he had chosen his words well. He couldn’t stop the wide grin that pulled across his features as he watched Claire snuggle into Mycroft.

                                                    

“Well, now that we have that settled…” Emily interrupted, setting the file down on her desk. “It appears that all of the paperwork is in order, Mr. Holmes, and I was informed that Claire’s belongings were collected from her temporary residence and moved to your home this afternoon.”

 

“They were, yes. I trust that there are some formalities that you would like to discuss before Claire and I depart to see about getting her things settled.” Mycroft slipped back into formality, forcing himself to maintain an acceptable level of decorum. It was difficult though, to school the grin from his face and prevent himself from swinging Claire around room in celebration. He groaned inwardly as he considered just how familiar that action might become in the future, as he was certain that he had not smiled as much in years as he had since Claire had come into his life.

 

“Nothing overly serious, Mr. Holmes. Certainly nothing too overwhelming.” Emily smiled warmly. “You already handled the terrifying bit.”

 

Mycroft’s small, polite smile turned warmer and more genuine when he heard Greg chuckle beside him. Turning to catch Greg’s gaze over Claire’s shoulder, Mycroft raised his eyebrows briefly and smiled.

 

Emily tapped her pen on her desk absently as she watched Greg and Mycroft hold a silent conversation that seemed to consist entirely of a few smiles and some subtle facial twitches. It certainly didn’t take her years of experience to recognize that Claire and Mycroft would be a good match. He was already protective of the little girl, and obviously had a caring nature, even if it was hidden under layers of formality. The change in Claire, once she realized that she was being placed in Mycroft’s care, was nothing short of astounding. The tension she had been carrying since Emily had picked her up at school seemed to have melted away, and she was happily curled into Mycroft’s arms, twisting his fingers in her own.

 

She cleared her throat, bringing three sets of eyes to focus on her. “Now, as you know, this placement is currently listed as temporary, pending home visits and further interviews. I’ll be stopping in to see you over the course of the next few months to see how you two are settling in. Some of the visits will be planned, some will be surprise visits.”

 

Greg had to force himself not to snort. There was no chance at all that Child Services would ever surprise Mycroft Holmes with a visit. It was obvious from the slight smile tugging at the corner of Mycroft’s lips, that he was of the same opinion.

 

Mycroft inclined his head and smiled politely. “The formalities of home visits were well laid out in the material I received from your office. I do not foresee any issues.”

 

“Neither do I, but it is standard procedure, nonetheless.”

 

“Of course.” Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting Claire’s weight to the other leg. She was surprisingly heavy, given her size. And bony.

 

“Do you have any further questions for me, Mr. Holmes?”

 

“No. I feel the situation is well in hand at this juncture, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“Yes. Do you have any questions, Claire?” Emily asked.

 

Claire opened her mouth to speak, and then quickly closed it again. She shook her head.

 

“Are you sure?” Emily prodded gently.

 

When Claire nodded and looked down at her hands, Mycroft frowned slightly. It was obvious that she was holding something back, but he wasn’t going to force the issue here. Perhaps once she was settled at home, she would feel more comfortable asking her questions. If not, he would just have to bribe her with ice cream…it always worked on Sherlock when he was a child.

 

“Okay, then, I think that’s everything.” Emily stood up and Greg and Mycroft rose to their feet as well. She offered her hand to Mycroft. “I’ll be in touch in a few days to see how things are going, but if anything comes up, feel free to give me a call.”

 

“Of course, Ms. Wilcox. Thank you for your time today.” Mycroft shook her hand before reaching down to take Claire’s hand in his own and moving toward the door.

 

Greg reached out to shake Emily’s hand with a smile. “You know, it’s nice to see you when there’s good news. We should try to do that more often.”

 

“Yeah, I much prefer this way of ending my day,” Emily laughed. “You’ll keep an eye on them, won’t you?”

 

“Of course I will. But you don’t need to worry; Mycroft is going to spoil that little girl rotten.”

 

“I’m sure of it. He seems like a good man. A bit frightening, if I’m honest, but it seems like he’s got a good heart.”

 

Greg smiled as he glanced out the door to see Mycroft and Claire standing in the hallway trying for all the world not to look like they were waiting for him. “That he does. Listen, thanks for everything, Em. I know you had to bend some rules for this case, and I really do appreciate it.”

 

“Of course, Greg. I’m glad everything worked out. Go on now, it’s obvious that they are waiting for you.”

 

Greg blushed slightly and started to walk towards Mycroft and Claire.  “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he called over his shoulder.

 

Emily smiled and nodded, waving as Greg left.

 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As he approached, Claire let go of Mycroft’s hand, and ran into Greg’s arms. He scooped her up, and held her tightly, smiling at Mycroft over her shoulder.

 

“So, where is the dynamic duo off to now? Heading back to your house to get Claire settled?”

 

“Please tell me that you haven’t settled on that unfortunate sobriquet already, Gregory.”

 

“What? Got a deep seated hatred of Batman and Robin that you’ve been keeping from me, Mycroft?”

 

“Hardly. I was rather hoping that the embarrassing monikers wouldn’t begin quite so soon after making the arrangements official.”

 

Greg grinned at Mycroft’s attempt to hide the smile that made it obvious that he was rather chuffed at Greg’s nickname. Rather than pushing the point, he turned his attention instead to Claire.

 

“So, kiddo, are you happy with how things turned out?”

 

Claire smiled shyly and nodded, but remained silent.

 

“I’m glad. I’m happy for you guys. You and Mycroft will have lots of fun together.”

 

Again, Claire smiled, but said nothing. When she squirmed, Greg set her down and she immediately took Mycroft’s hand.

 

Mycroft looked down at her with a slight frown, before clearing his throat subtly to gain Greg’s attention.

 

“Gregory, it was my intention to linger in the hall in order to invite you to join us for a celebratory dinner. However, it would seem that Claire is feeling slightly overwhelmed by this afternoon’s events. It would, perhaps, be in her best interest for her and I to go straight home and allow her time to settle into her new surroundings. I trust you will not take that as a slight.”

 

“No, of course not. It’s best if you get her sorted out as soon as you can. We’ll do dinner another night.”

 

Like Mycroft, Greg was beginning to worry about Claire a bit. She seemed too quiet. And Greg knew enough about kids to know that when a five year old was that quiet, something was up, especially when she should be excited by the news. Overwhelmed seemed to be as good a reason as anything, and he was sure that Mycroft would get to the bottom of it.

 

“You two get yourselves home, and don’t worry about me. I have to go back to the office, anyway.” Greg smiled warmly and held out his hand to Mycroft. “Congratulations again, Mycroft. You two are going to be great together and I’m happy for you.”

 

“I appreciate your understanding, Gregory. I do hope that we can reschedule soon.”

 

After shaking Mycroft’s hand, Greg crouched down to Claire’s level. “I’m happy for you too, Claire.” Greg leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Make sure you talk him into giving you ice cream for dessert. You’ve definitely earned it today.”

 

Claire giggled and pulled Greg into a hug. He ran his hand through her hair gently for just a moment before she leaned back and reached for Mycroft’s hand again.

 

Greg rose to his feet, and Mycroft gave him a brief smile before turning and walking away with Claire in tow. As he watched the pair walk away, Greg smiled. It seemed like the day was looking up after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumps in the road and learning to be a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life drama, long hours at work, and a severe case of writer's block took my attention away from this story for a bit longer than I wanted. But the good news is that Chapter 9 is in the works, and for those of you who have been waiting patiently for more Mystrade moments, you will soon be pleased.
> 
> As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, lyricalsoul, who kept me going through the difficult patches and always manages to make me laugh at exactly the moments I need it most.

Mycroft studied Claire surreptitiously as she sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching the scenery as they drove past. He was concerned at the way she kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking – as though he might disappear at any moment.

 

He smiled at Claire’s whispered “Wow” as they pulled up to the house, and he quickly gathered their belongings before exiting the car. Claire made no move to exit the car, and sat with her eyes on her shoes until Mycroft rounded the car, opened her door, and reached out to her.

 

Her hesitation was palpable as the pair walked up the front steps and Mycroft could feel the tension in her body as she leaned against his legs while he unlocked the door.

 

“Welcome to your new home, Claire.” He ushered her gently into the foyer with a hand on her back. “I hope you find it a happy place to live.”

 

When Claire looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark, Mycroft realized he had been mistaken. While Claire’s demeanor indicated to him that she was feeling overwhelmed by the sudden changes to her living arrangement, her eyes told an entirely different story. She wasn’t just sad – she was angry as well.  It was a surprising revelation, and one that Mycroft firmly intended to explore and resolve, explore and  resolve, but he wanted to get her settled first.

 

She stood beside him quietly as he hung their coats in the closet, and followed his direction without a word when he motioned her up the stairs. When Claire glanced over her shoulder to ensure that he was following her, Mycroft took the opportunity to break the silence that had fallen between them.

 

“So Claire, where would you like to begin the tour?” Mycroft wanted to encourage her to take control of the situation and establish the parameters for their inevitable conversation.

 

Claire paused on the steps and turned to face him, biting her lip anxiously. “I’d like to see my room, please.”

 

Mycroft nodded and smiled, pleased with her choice. At the top of stairs, he moved in front of her, leading the way up another flight of steps and down a hallway. As he opened the door to reveal Claire’s bedroom, he was pleased to see that his instructions to his staff had been followed to the letter. Softly lit by a bedside lamp, the room, which was painted with the palest blush of pink, looked warm and inviting. And there, perched amongst the array of white and pink pillows that adorned the bed, was Boris, looking for all the world like a slightly shabby prince who was surveying his new estate.

 

Claire immediately clambered onto the bed and gathered her bear into her arms, then hopped down, and went to sit in the window seat, where she curled in a tight ball. Mycroft smiled softly as he watched her take in her new room, her eyes wide and sparkling. It seemed that his interior design decisions passed the test.

 

“Do you like your bedroom, my dear?” Mycroft was hoping that a few well-placed questions might encourage her to begin a conversation.

 

Claire nodded and nudged the curtain aside to look out the window.

 

He tried again, “Is there anything about it that you would like to change?”

 

Claire shook her head and continued to look out at the garden below.

 

Apparently his child-friendly design skills would not allow him to forgo the silent treatment.

 

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

 

Claire looked down at Boris, tugged on his ear, and then shrugged.

 

“Was that meant to be a no, then?” Mycroft would not allow himself to lose patience. Claire would speak to him when she was ready, and he was going to continue to encourage her to do so, even if it was a bit maddening.

 

Claire bit her lip, still refusing to meet his eyes.

 

Mycroft sighed. “Claire,” he began, “something has been bothering you since we were at Ms. Wilcox’s office this afternoon. Would you please tell me what it is?”

 

Claire huffed out a breath and glared at him in defiance. “I don’t have to,” she pouted.

 

“That is true, of course, but I cannot help you if I do not know what the problem is.” When in doubt, rely on logic and stating the obvious. It was an adequate plan that had seen him through many a negotiation. One only hoped that it also worked on five year olds.

 

“You aren’t going to help me. You don’t care anyway, so stop asking me questions.”

 

Apparently not.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and moved to sit next to Claire, offering her his hand.

 

“Claire, it distresses me greatly that you think that I do not care about what is troubling you. I thought I made it clear that you are very important to me and I would do whatever is in my power to ensure that you are happy here. Please tell me…”

 

Claire clenched her jaw and dropped her chin. They sat in silence for a few moments before Mycroft noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wanted so badly to reach out to her, but feared that she would pull away from him. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.

 

“She said ‘temporary’ and you didn’t say no. I know what temporary means. I’m not dumb.”

 

Mycroft’s breath caught in his chest. Of course a child her age wouldn’t understand the bureaucracy of navigating the adoption process. How could he have possibly have missed something so obvious?

 

“That is what this is all about.” It was not a question. “My dear girl, I have no intention of this being a temporary situation. Not for one moment. This is your home, for as long as you want it to be.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell her that? You didn’t say anything, you just let her say that and you didn’t do anything.  And now you say that you want me to stay for always. And that means you didn’t tell the truth to one of us, and that’s a bad thing to do.” Claire’s voice had taken on a harsh edge, rising in volume as she spat out her words, filled with confusion and hurt. She looked down at Mycroft’s outstretched palm and shoved it away from her. “I don’t talk to people who do bad things.”

 

Mycroft took a deep breath and placed his hand back where it had been. He was not going to give in to her fit of pique, even though her words stung. “Claire, I did not lie to you. And I did not lie to Ms. Wilcox. As far as she is concerned, you are in my care on a temporary basis, so in that regard, what she said was the truth.”

 

“You lied!” she wailed, glaring at him again.

 

“I did not!” Mycroft responded sharply, causing Claire to flinch. He inhaled loudly and forced himself to calm down. After a few moments, he let out the breath he had been holding and began again gently, “Please Claire, let me explain.”

 

He waited until she looked up at him, though it was only a moment before she looked away, deciding to look on the corner bookshelf instead.  “It is not an easy thing to adopt a child, or even to take care of one in need. The government has to make sure that every child is protected, and that they are in homes where they are safe and cared for. In order to do that, every child is placed in a home on a temporary basis for a few months, while social workers like Ms. Wilcox can keep checking in on them to make sure they are happy. Once they see that everything is going well, the temporary placement can become permanent.

 

“So you see, my dear, I did not lie. Not to Ms. Wilcox, and certainly not to you. Never to you. I simply have to follow the rules in order to allow you to live here. But I promise you, Claire, that as long as you want to remain here in my home with me, that I will do everything in my power to make sure that you do not have to leave. And I have a remarkable amount of power.”

 

Claire looked up at him cautiously. It seemed that she still didn’t wholly believe that he was being genuine. Mycroft understood the hesitation. She obviously was not used to having adults be forthright with her, preferring, perhaps, to shield her from information that they did not feel was age appropriate or in a misguided attempt to spare her feelings. And while he would not always be able to tell Claire the precise nature of many aspects of his life, he would, to the best of his ability, not lie to her.

 

“This afternoon I told you that you would always be wanted and would always be loved. I promised you that, and I don’t break my promises.”

 

Claire’s eyes never left his while he spoke. He knew that if nothing else, those words had made their way past the fear and sadness that had become so much a part of her life. He watched as hope flared in her eyes, and the anxiety that he had been carrying all evening started to ebb away.

 

Claire tugged at her bottom lip a few times before taking a deep breath. She regarded Mycroft solemnly.  “So I get to stay? And I don’t have to move to another family again?”

 

Mycroft smiled softly. “No, Claire, you don’t have to move again. You can stay here as long as you want to. I will make sure of it.”

 

“And you’re going to stay too? You won’t go away like the others?”

 

“I’ll stay too. I promise.”

 

Claire slid her hand into Mycroft’s, then smiled. It was a big, happy smile, that made Mycroft laugh, and squeeze her hand.

 

“So then, my dear, does that mean you are feeling better?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m glad.” Mycroft stood and tugged his waistcoat into place. “Now would you like to see the rest of the house?”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

For Mycroft, the next two days passed in a bit of a blur. His working hours were filled with a number of extremely delicate negotiations. His evenings, filled with navigating a tenuous new relationship with a spirited, and surprisingly vocal five year old, were much the same, though they involved fewer languages and time zone calculations.

 

He settled back against the pillows he had propped against his headboard and reached for the cup of tea that was cooling on his bedside table. Taking a sip and sighing in contentment, Mycroft realized that this was the first moment his house had been truly silent since he returned home several hours ago. It seemed odd now, the silence… he smiled and shook his head in surprise. So little time had elapsed since bringing Claire into his home, and already it seemed normal that the atmosphere of his home, one which could have been previously described as subdued, if one felt inclined to kindness and sepulchral if one did not, was now one of happiness and warmth.

 

Claire still held herself with just a touch of unease, not quite believing Mycroft when he told her that she could explore the house, and that he truly wanted her to feel at home. He had needed to gently remind her that she did not have to ask for permission to go to her bedroom when she wanted, or to be allowed to read a book. The look of surprise on her face when he said she could even play the piano in the study if she wanted still made him smile every time he thought back on it.

 

By the same token, when Mycroft had hesitated to give her a hug before saying goodnight on that first night, Claire rather forcefully informed him that he was being silly and she would not be going to sleep until “you figure out how to tuck me in properly and kiss my forehead.” When he forgot, in his somewhat flustered compliance, to bestow a kiss on Boris’ forehead as well, Claire made him repeat the entire ritual again so would remember the steps for the next time.

 

They were learning how to be a family. A slow and delicate process that made Mycroft feel uncertain of himself, for the first time in a very long while, but one that he felt sure was worth every awkward moment.

 

The vibration of  his mobile’s text notification startled him slightly. He set he book aside, and looked at the text.

 

_Thought I’d check in to see how things were going with Claire. Remembering to feed her?_

Gregory. Mycroft chuckled lightly and quickly responded.

 

_While I might forget to dine on occasion, I have learned rather quickly that failure to provide adequate nourishment to children results in a wholly unpleasant and persistent quasi-avian squawking sound. Terribly difficult to ignore._

_It’s much harder for them to squawk when they have their mouth full. Also prevents them from biting you when they start to get really upset. You should try peanut butter…it’s a godsend to parents everywhere._

_Sound advice, as always, Gregory. I will have to try that when she starts to complain about the lack of chocolate and sprinkles that she feels should accompany her breakfast. Apparently, if I were “not mean” I would have provided her with more exciting choices than cereal or toast._

_Good to hear that she’s being feisty again! What was up with her on Wednesday?_

_She was angry with me for not correcting Ms. Wilcox when she indicated that this was a temporary placement. I have since reassured her that I have no intention of giving up custody so long as she wants stay._

_So you two are good now?_

_Indeed. Still learning our way around each other, but she seems content._

_Except for the sprinkles and chocolate. Tyrant._

_Occupational hazard, I expect._

_Probably true. So, any chance the two of you might be up for that celebratory dinner? Have to admit that I miss the kid a bit. And I still have to convince you that you are completely wrong about the merits of the Miles Davis Quintet recording I told you about._

_You are an ambitious one, aren’t you?_

_I prefer tenacious. You only dislike the 1956 recording because you’ve never heard it on vinyl. Jazz is always better on vinyl._

_I could not agree with you more, Gregory. However, you will never convince me that particular recording is better than the 1955 ‘Blue Moods’ album. It is an utter impossibility and I will not give your statement any additional credence by discussing it further._

_Tyrant._

_Dinner tomorrow evening with a tyrant and a semi-avian child? Say 7:00 PM?_

_I’m in. Provided there are no disasters at work._

_Excellent. Shall I send a car?_

_That would be great. I’ll be at the office. Paperwork seems to multiply when you turn your back on it and I’m afraid I might get buried alive if I don’t make some headway soon._

_I completely understand the sentiment and have found myself in the same predicament on a number of occasions. I shall send a car to your office to arrive at 6:30 if that suits?_

_Sounds perfect. See you both tomorrow then. Night._

_Indeed you shall. Goodnight, Gregory._

 

Smiling to himself, Mycroft returned his mobile to the table, and took up his book. Reading a chapter or two before bed was a novelty that he rarely indulged in, but given the fact that his last few days were completely anomalous to what he considered normal, he thought he should continue the trend.

 

It was not long before Mycroft heard what sounded like a faint whimper. He drew a breath and held it, listening for any additional sound, but when nothing more came, he turned back to his book. A mere five pages later, he heard it again, but this time it was considerably louder and most definitely coming from Claire’s bedroom.

 

Grabbing his dressing gown from the end of the bed, Mycroft wrapped it around his body as he hurried to Claire’s room and pushed open the door. It was obvious that she was having a nightmare, and Mycroft sighed softly as he moved over to sit on the edge of her bed. He reached out to her, gently untangling her clenched hands from the duvet and pulling them into his own. Claire’s whimpers had turned into full blown cries and tears began were rolling down her cheek as she struggled against Mycroft’s grip.

 

“Claire,” Mycroft called out softly, “it’s okay, it’s just me. Come now, wake up.”

 

Claire continued to struggle against him and made no indication that she had heard him.

 

Mycroft slid his hand up to her shoulder and shook her gently. “Come on, Claire, wake up now. It’s a nightmare. You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

 

She gasped loudly, and her eyes flew open, fear written all over her face. Mycroft released her as soon as she pulled against him, and his heart clenched as she scrambled away and curled herself into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut.  Mycroft reached out a hand toward her, but made sure he did not touch her without her permission. The last thing she needed was to feel trapped as well as frightened.

 

“Claire, _bijou_ , please calm down,” Mycroft soothed, the term of endearment falling easily from his lips without a thought. “You’re safe here and I won’t let anything hurt you. It was a just a bad dream.”

 

Claire jerked at the sound of his voice.  She whirled around to face him with wide eyes. She was panting and shaking, but she seemed to recognize him, at least to some extent.

 

Mycroft remained still and tried again, his voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay, my dear, you’re safe. You’ve had nightmare, but that’s all it was. No one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

 

“Mycroft?” she gasped, blinking rapidly.

 

“Yes, Claire. Yes, it’s me. You’re at my home, _our_ home, in your new bedroom. Do you remember?”

 

Claire launched herself across the bed, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his neck. As sobs wracked her small body, Mycroft simply held her tightly and petted her hair.

 

As the minutes passed, Mycroft felt her relaxing into his chest and once Claire’s breathing evened out, he slowly extracted himself from her arms and settled her back against the pillows.  He gently tucked the duvet around her and smiled when she nuzzled herself deeper into the blankets. Just as he stood to leave the room, he felt a tug on the sleeve of his dressing gown.

 

“No, My. Don’t go.” Claire shuffled back to allow him enough room to lay down next to her, but never removed her hand from his sleeve.

 

Mycroft smiled gently and settled onto the bed, with his shoulders resting against the headboard. He reached out his arm and laid it across the pillows above Claire’s head, offering her the invitation to come into his embrace, but not wanting to push the point. He chuckled softly as she immediately pressed herself against him and tugged his arm down around her shoulders.

 

“Will you stay, My? Please?”

 

“I’ll stay, _bijou_ , I promise. Go to sleep now. I’ll keep watch.”

 

Claire sighed and pressed her face into his chest. She flung her arm out and groped around on the bed behind her, until she located her teddy bear. Pulling Boris into her arms, she snuggled down under the duvet and promptly fell back to sleep.

 

Mycroft kept watch, just as he promised; listening to the sound of Claire’s soft breathing until he too, fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mystrade ahoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of you who have stuck with this story. Your feedback, kudos, and comments are lovely and I sincerely appreciate each one.
> 
> Also, huge thanks to my beta, lyricalsoul, who is simply one of the most awesome people I know. Getting to know her was a highlight of 2013!
> 
> Super long chapter this time, filled with Mystrade-y goodness.

Greg walked up the steps slowly, smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit jacket before brushing some of the rain from his overcoat. He had decided to leave his tie behind in his office, a decision that took an alarmingly long time to come to, feeling torn between being comfortable and being underdressed. Still, he reminded himself, it’s not like Mycroft wore a three-piece suit at home, right?

After ringing the bell, he stepped back and took a look at his surroundings. Posh neighborhood, of course, but not as overdone as he thought it’d be. The house itself was large, set back from the street behind a wrought-iron gate. It seemed to fit Mycroft rather well, all told.

Lost in thought, Greg startled when the door opened. He turned to find a tall, grey-haired woman looking at him expectantly.

“Um… I…um…hello,” Greg flushed slightly at the fact that his greeting came out as more of a question than anything, and fought the urge to look at his feet.

“Was that meant to be a question?” she asked, her thick Austrian accent lending her an air of forcefulness, but the question was not unkind. She smiled when Greg’s blush grew brighter.

“No, ma’am, not a question.” Greg smiled charmingly. “I’m Greg Lestrade. I believe Mr. Holmes is expecting me?”

“Of course, Detective Inspector, please do come in.” She stepped aside and gestured Greg into the foyer, before offering to take his coat.

“So,” he began awkwardly, “how long have you worked for Mr. Holmes?” Small talk. Small talk would help. It had to.

“I have been in his employ for only a week,” she replied with a slight smile. “I am Mrs. Brunner, the child’s nanny, and, apparently, Mr. Holmes’s sometimes housekeeper.”

Greg gave her a wide smile and leaned in toward her. “It’s been my experience with the Holmes family that you often find yourself doing things that you didn’t sign up for,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Mrs. Brunner chuckled and nodded. “I am beginning to understand just how true that statement is, Detective Inspector. Though, I rather think that Mr. Holmes will find himself giving me a pay rise sooner than he expected.”

“Good on you! Don’t let him get away with anything, or you’ll find yourself lying in bed one night a few years from now, wondering what the hell happened to your life.” Greg grinned and winked at her. “Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything. Oh, and it’s Greg, by the way.”

“And you may call me Ada, if it suits you.” She offered her hand and Greg shook it firmly. It was not a handshake of greeting, but one of alliance. And it was good to have as many allies as you could when you were dealing with the Holmes family.

As Greg was escorted up the stairs and down the hallway, he became aware that the music he had heard from the foyer was getting progressively louder. As Ada opened the door to the study, Greg was stunned to see Mycroft sitting at a baby grand piano, playing with his eyes closed. The image became even more startling when he took in the whole scene and realized that Claire was lying on her stomach underneath the piano, happily coloring a picture with Boris at her side. It looked like she had also commandeered a number of pillows and blankets, and had built herself a rather impressive fort.

Claire looked up when she heard the door open and let out an excited squeal, which in turn, made Mycroft jump, his fingers dragging across the keys in dissonance. She laughed as Greg swung her up and spun her around in a circle, before dropping her back to her feet.

“Well, that was certainly a great welcome, Claire! What are you up to under there?” Greg asked, nodding toward her blanket fort.

“Just colouring while we were waiting for you. My said he would play the piano for me if I found a way to ‘non-destructively occupy myself.’ I wasn’t really sure exactly what that meant, but I guessed he just wanted me to play quietly. So I built a fort!”

Mycroft chuckled, and walked over to Greg, reaching out to shake his hand. “Good to see you again, Gregory. Welcome to our home.”

“Thanks, Mycroft. It’s good to see you guys too. Sorry to interrupt the music.”

“Oh please, it was honestly nothing. Just a way to pass the time until you arrived. Claire seems to enjoy it when I play, and it’s nice to have a receptive audience every now and again.”

“Don’t be so modest. It sounded terrific to me. And if you ever find yourself craving the limelight, just let me know. I’d be happy to be your audience.” Greg smiled as a faint blush spread across Mycroft’s cheeks.

Claire grabbed Greg’s hand and pulled him over to the piano.  “Greg! You have to come and see my fort! And the piano sounds even cooler when you sit underneath it!”

Greg chuckled and let himself be led, sinking down to his knees to peer under the piano while Claire climbed back into her little nest. Art supplies, stuffed animals, a few books, and some building blocks filled the spaces between the pillows and blankets.

“Come on! You have to come inside!”

“Slow down there, kiddo,” Greg laughed as Claire kept tugging on his sleeve. “This isn’t quite as easy when you’re my age.” He had to stifle a groan as his back twinged, and rolled his eyes as he heard Mycroft chuckle from somewhere above him.

Once Greg got settled into a rather awkward sitting position, his back and neck curled so that he could fit under the piano, Claire reached out and tapped on Mycroft’s shoe.

“Now play, My, so that Greg can hear how cool it sounds!”

“And thus I have been commanded,” Mycroft sighed as he took his seat on the piano bench and stretched his legs to reach the pedals. “Any requests, Gregory?”

“Um…The Minute Waltz?” Greg replied, smiling at the sound of Mycroft’s warm laugh. “Not sure how much longer these old joints are going to let me stay down here.”

“That’s why you have to lay down!” Claire replied, rolling her eyes.

“Now you tell me, you little monster!” Greg reached out and tousled Claire’s curls.

Mycroft began to play as Greg rearranged himself to lie on his back. The sound of the piano echoed strangely from below, but it was easy to tell just how skilled a musician Mycroft was. And while Claire was certainly creative in her approach to musical appreciation, Greg was certain that being able to watch Mycroft play would be even more enjoyable. Perhaps they could test that theory later tonight after Claire went to bed.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a simple affair, the three of them gathered around a small, informal table in a dining nook adjacent to the kitchen, rather than the large formal dining room Greg was sure was somewhere in the house. As Mycroft plated the lasagna and salad, Claire nattered on about all of the things that she and Mycroft had done since the last time she had seen Greg. She had just begun telling Greg about how much fun she had helping Mycroft put the lasagna together as he took the first few bites of his meal.

“Hang on a minute... wait… you made this?” Greg questioned, swallowing quickly.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and took a sip of wine. “Is that a problem?”

“No! No, of course not. It’s excellent. I just assumed that Ada made it…I mean, you don’t really strike me as the type of person who cooks in his spare time.”

Mycroft frowned slightly. “Ada? You’re on a first name basis with Claire’s nanny?”

“Um…yes?” It appeared that Greg was going to spend his evening blushing. He blamed the house. It certainly wasn’t because of Mycroft. And it was definitely not because of that mischievous smirk that he was failing to hide from Greg.

“That’s certainly unexpected. Though, as I’ve said in the past, you can be very charming when you set your mind to it.”

Greg was definitely blushing now, though he tried to cover the awkwardness by taking a large swallow of wine. “I thought you said that I could be very persuasive…you never said I was charming.”

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder. “Ah, I must have misremembered the conversation then. My mistake.”

Greg ducked his head, suddenly finding his plate fascinating. He took a few deep breaths before looking up to find Mycroft watching him. _That isn’t possible_ , Greg thought, _that man doesn’t ‘misremember’ anything. Did Mycroft seriously just flirt with me?_

“For the record, Gregory, I do enjoy cooking when I have the time. While it is certainly not helpful where my waistline is concerned, I do find the activity rather relaxing. I can even make scones, should you ever want to revisit that particular culinary disaster.”

Greg chuckled warmly and raised his glass to acknowledge a point well played.  “Maybe I’ll take you up on the offer. Certainly wouldn’t want to be remembered for my culinary shortcomings.”

Mycroft laughed and raised his glass.

 “You know, you don’t really need to worry about your waistline, Mycroft, you look quite fit to me.” _Jesus, Greg, really? That’s the best you can do?_

“Does this mean we get to have chocolate for breakfast now?” Claire chimed in, sensing an opportunity, while Mycroft hastily turned his attention to his own plate.

“Did you really think that was going to work, Claire?” Greg asked with a laugh. “You should have at least waited until I complimented him a few more times before you went in for the kill.”

“Gregory, could you please refrain from teaching the child the finer points of emotional manipulation until she has been here more that than a week?” Mycroft scolded, before turning to Claire. “And, unfortunately for you, my dear, I am rather immune to hollow praise, so I’m afraid that your desire for a chocolate-laden breakfast will remain firmly in the ‘no’ category.”

“Awww…” Claire pouted, before shoveling a bite of lasagna into her mouth.

“For the record, that wasn’t hollow praise, Mycroft.” Greg said quietly

Mycroft blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. “Well then, Gregory, I do appreciate the compliment.”

This time, they both blushed.

After dinner, while Mycroft took their plates into the kitchen, Claire turned to Greg with a pensive look.

“Greg, can I ask you something important?”

“Of course, kiddo, what’s up?” Greg replied, reaching for his glass of wine.

“Are you and My friends?”

Greg paused, setting the glass down on the table without taking a sip. “Yeah, we’re friends. That’s okay, right?”

Claire nodded and studied her hands for a few moments. “Do you have lots of friends?”

“I have a few. Enough, I guess,” Greg replied with a shrug. “Not that I mind, but what’s brought this on?”

“I don’t have many friends. I have three, but not lots and lots like some of the kids.”

Greg smiled gently. “Claire, you know there is no prize for having the most friends, right? I mean, as long as you have a few good friends, that’s enough.”

“I know. I just…” Claire took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. “I don’t think My has many friends.”

“He doesn’t?

She shook her head emphatically. “He never talks about anyone but Sherlock, who’s his little brother, and you. And he works all the time, and he’s quiet a lot, and he just…seems kind of sad sometimes.” Claire was so speaking so quickly, she nearly ran out of breath. “Like, sometimes, he just stands by the window in the study and looks out at the garden, but usually it’s dark outside, so I don’t know what he thinks he’ll be able to see. And the other night, when he was tucking me in, I asked him if he was lonely, and he said ‘Not anymore,’ and then just kissed my forehead.”

Greg reached out and pulled Claire’s hand into his own but before he could even begin to speak, she blurted out, “Please keep being his friend, okay?”

“Claire, I think it’s great that you want to make sure Mycroft isn’t sad or lonely. And even though he gets quiet sometimes, I know that he’s much happier now that you are here with him. You don’t need to worry.”

“But are you going to keep being his friend? Because everyone needs to have a friend and I don’t think that Sherlock really counts because he’s My’s brother and that’s not the same.”

“Of course I’m going to keep being Mycroft’s friend.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” 

When Mycroft stepped back into the room, he saw Greg and Claire linking their pinkies together in what looked to be a very solemn oath.

“Interrupting a soul bond, am I?” he asked with a small chuckle as the two coconspirators startled at the sound of his voice.

Claire looked up at Mycroft with huge smile. “Nothing. Just making Greg pinky promise about something.”

“And you felt it necessary to bind him into such a fervent agreement? Gregory, is there something I need to be concerned about?”

“Of course not. Just having a nice chat with my little minion here…nothing to worry about.”

Mycroft shook his head with fond exasperation. “For some reason, I find it extraordinarily difficult to believe that the two of you are not up to some type of mischief.”

Claire stood up and wrapped her arms around Mycroft’s legs. “Don’t worry, My, it’s just good things.”

Mycroft shook off his momentary surprise at how freely Claire offered affection, and ran his long fingers through her hair fondly. “All right then, my dear, I trust you.”

She looked up at him with a small pout. “Could I go and watch a movie before I go to bed? I’ve been good all night…”

“Ah…I see…using the fact that I think you’re adorable against me, are you?” He looked over to Greg. “Did you teach her this?”

“Nope, wasn’t me. But for the record, is it working?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Mycroft replied, “or at least it does if you’re five.” Mycroft scooped Claire up into his arms and chuckled as she laughed and tried to squirm away from him.

“Gregory, if you would go to the study and find some music to put on, I’ll see this little manipulator off to bed.”

“Sure thing. ‘Night Claire.” Greg said, scooping up the wine glasses and the half empty bottle before turning to head out of the room.

Claire stopped wriggling and sat up properly in Mycroft’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Wait! Come back here and say a proper goodnight!”

Greg stopped short and returned to Mycroft’s side, cocking his eyebrow. Claire leaned over and kissed him messily on the cheek. “Goodnight, Greg. Thanks for coming over to have dinner with us.”

Greg ruffled her curls and placed a kiss on her cheek. “It was my pleasure. Thanks for showing me your awesome fort under the piano. Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Claire hummed happily and rested her head on Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft cupped her cheek gently and began walking towards Claire’s bedroom, before turning back to smile at Greg. “I will return in a few moments, Gregory. Do make yourself comfortable.”

 

* * *

 

As the smoky strains of Nina Simone’s “Feelin’ Good” filled the room, Mycroft was so taken with the sight that greeted him when he returned to the study, that he paused in the doorway just to enjoy it for a few moments more. Gregory was turned toward the window, his shoulder resting against the frame as he stared out at the darkened garden, lazily swirling the last swallow of wine around in his glass. A fire had been lit in the fireplace and the warm bronze light glinted off the silver in Gregory’s hair and lent the room an aura of cozy intimacy.

 _Dear God, I could see this sight every night for the rest of my life and never tire of it_ , Mycroft thought, taking a deep breath to calm the sudden rush of nerves that accompanied it. He had always been able to acknowledge that Gregory was a handsome man, but he had never found the need to dwell on his feelings on that matter until the day that he accompanied Claire and Greg to the zoo. It was at that point, in his sleep deprived haze, that he finally admitted to himself just how much he fancied him.

The song drew to an end, and Mycroft cleared his throat gently. Greg turned and grinned at him, and gestured at the bottle of wine he’d placed on the mantle.

“Wine?”

Mycroft nodded.

“Hope you don’t mind, I thought a fire might be nice,” he offered as he poured Mycroft a fresh glass.

“Not at all. A perfect accompaniment to your musical selection.” Mycroft reached out to take the offered glass, his fingers brushing Greg’s lightly in the exchange.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to top Nina Simone and a good glass of burgundy.”

The two men stood in silence for several long moments, sipping their wine and pointedly avoiding eye contact, though it was obvious to both that the other kept sneaking glances when they thought they would go unobserved.

Mycroft was almost sad to break the silence. “So, Gregory, is there any chance that I can convince you to tell me the nature of the oath you swore with Claire?”

Greg chuckled and moved over to sit on the sofa and Mycroft followed behind him. “Made you nervous, did we?”

“I admit nothing of the sort.” Mycroft paused and stared into the fire for a few moments before sighing. He turned back to Greg, “Fine. I’ll confess, I am curious. You will tell me what it was, won’t you?”

Greg grinned. “She asked me to promise that I’ll continue to be your friend.”

Mycroft blinked. That was not what he had expected. “Claire was concerned about the status of our friendship? Why would she trouble herself with that?”

“She said that she thought you needed more friends, and she was worried because you seemed lonely.”

Mycroft looked down at his glass. “She should never have to worry about me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Greg.

“Well, she does, whether you want her to or not. That’s what being a family is about. You worry about Sherlock even though he’s made it abundantly clear that he would rather you didn’t.”

“Yes, I do, but we both know what would happen if Sherlock were left to his own devices.”

“He’s better with now with John…much less likely to blow anything up or end up in jail.” Greg smirked and shook his head. “You worry because you care about him.  And Claire worries because she cares about you. Simple.”

Mycroft smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, I have found that nothing concerning Claire, or the emotional well-being of a member of the Holmes family is ever quite that simple, Gregory.”

“It can be. And contrary to what you might believe, sometimes it really is. You just have to stop overthinking it all.”

“Asking a Holmes to stop thinking is tantamount to asking me to prevent the waves from coming ashore. Utterly impossible, and completely against nature.”

Greg laughed. “It’s really not, and I’ll prove it. Your best moments with Claire happen when you stop thinking about what you should do or say, and you just follow your instincts.”

“Tonight when you told Claire to ‘non-destructively occupy herself’ you never imagined that she’d build a blanket fort under your piano, did you? ‘Course not. But you let her do it anyway, and you two had a great evening. Same with the zoo, or even when you gave her a hug at the crime scene on the very first night. If you stop thinking about it, you do fine.”

“Be that as it may, there is one thing that you failed to take into consideration in all of those circumstances.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?”

“In all of those situations, I was more concerned about doing the wrong thing and upsetting Claire than I was about whatever activity she had thrust upon me.”

Greg smiled and patted Mycroft’s arm. “Well, my Da always said that fear is a great motivator. I expect that the same applies to parenting.”

Mycroft shook his head and laughed, “Apparently so.”

“So, now that you dragged my secret from me, I think you owe me something in compensation.”

“I imagine you have something in mind?”

“Or course.” Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s glass from his hand. Gesturing at the piano, he said, “I’d like to hear you play. Without having to crawl on the floor.”

Mycroft nodded, and went to turn off the record player. With a smile, he took a seat at the piano. “Any requests?”

“Play me something that’s you. The piece you play when you’ve had a tough day and just want to unwind.”

Mycroft didn’t hesitate. He simply took a deep breath and started to play.  As his eyes drifted shut, he tilted his head slightly to the right.

Greg stood slowly and moved closer to the piano, careful not to make any noise that might disturb.

The melody was contemplative and slightly sad, the volume ebbing and flowing as Mycroft’s long fingers moved along the keys. The song built to a climax, becoming more hopeful as the trills and ornaments were supported by fuller, rounder chords. And as the music drifted to a melancholy end, Greg realized just how seriously Mycroft had taken his request. This song, whatever it was, _was_ him. An amalgamation of hope and loneliness, structure and recklessness, light and dark.

For a moment, Greg couldn’t breathe.

Mycroft remained precisely where he was when the song ended, his hands still poised just slightly above the keys. He didn’t look up until he felt Greg sit down on the bench next to him, facing away from the piano itself, but close enough that their shoulders bumped together. When their eyes met, Gregory’s warm brown eyes shone with some unvoiced emotion, and Mycroft smiled shyly. He was just about to speak when Greg turned his body slightly and reached out to run his fingers gently along his jaw.  Mycroft covered Greg’s hand with his own and pressed a kiss into Greg’s palm.

As Greg slid his hand back to the nape of his neck, Mycroft leaned forward and captured Greg’s lips in a kiss. It lasted only a few moments before Mycroft pulled back, suddenly overcome with the brashness of his action. He took a deep breath, and blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure. He hadn’t thought…not for a moment. He just acted and taken what he wanted without ever considering the consequences, an act that was so unlike him he was finding it difficult to even find the words to try to salvage the situation.  Just as he was about to apologize, Greg squeezed the back of his neck gently and leaned forward.

“Mycroft,” Greg whispered, his lips barely brushing against Mycroft’s, “stop thinking.”

With that, Mycroft surged forward met Greg’s lips forcefully, determined to allow himself just to feel and taste the man who had fueled so many of his most recent fantasies. When Greg’s lips parted and his tongue touched Mycroft’s lower lip, Mycroft nearly whimpered.  As Greg sighed, Mycroft took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding their tongues together, slowly caressing and teasing each other.

Mycroft splayed his fingers along Greg’s jaw, his thumb resting just under the hinge of his jaw and his fingertips threading through the silver hair at the base of Greg’s neck.  He could feel the race of Greg’s pulse against his palm, the heat radiating from him as he pulled him tighter against his chest. The angle was awkward, but neither man was going to break the kiss just for the sake of comfort.

 _Wine,_ Mycroft thought as Greg’s tongue slid against the roof of his mouth, _Gregory tastes of wine. And isn’t that more divine than drinking it from a glass._

The kisses slowed and then broke completely as Greg moved down to nuzzle at Mycroft’s jaw and down his neck, pressing open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. Mycroft moaned softly at the loss of Greg’s mouth and pressed his cheek against Greg’s head when he rested his forehead against Mycroft’s collarbone.

“Well, that was…” Greg panted.

“It was, indeed.” Mycroft replied with a small chuckle, and pressed a soft kiss just behind Greg’s ear.

Mycroft cupped Greg’s face in his hands and kissed him softly before swinging his legs around the piano bench and slowly rising to his feet. He reached out for Greg’s hand and tugged him up against his chest firmly, wrapping his arms around him. When Greg relaxed against him, Mycroft began slowly moving along the side of Greg’s neck, his tongue tracing lazy circles against the skin. Greg groaned and tipped his head to the side to allowing Mycroft more room to explore.

“So,” he murmured, “if we were to, say… hypothetically, move this over to the sofa…”

Mycroft let out a huff. “God, Gregory, you’re going to be the death of me…”

“Hell of a way to go though, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

Greg laughed and leaned in to nip at Mycroft’s bottom lip playfully, before drawing back and pulling him toward the sofa. 

“You know, it’s been years since I’ve been kissed like that. I had forgotten what it felt like.”

“I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever had a kiss that felt quite like that, Gregory. Though, I must admit, it is something I certainly could get used to.”

“Well then, let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?”

Greg sank into the buttery soft leather of the sofa, and smiled up at Mycroft, trying his best to look innocent. As soon as Mycroft settled himself onto the cushions, Greg pounced on him with a grin, straddling his legs and taking his head in his hands, kissing him soundly. Mycroft chuckled when they broke for air, and ran his hands through Greg’s hair.

“I knew the innocent act was a charade, Gregory. You, my good man, are nothing, if not a bad influence.”

Greg leaned in, nipping at Mycroft’s neck. “Probably true, that. But I am fun,” he murmured against the tender skin.

Mycroft groaned and tipped his head back, exposing more of his neck to Greg’s ministrations. “Fun is not exactly the word I would use to describe you.”

“No?”

“No,” Mycroft replied firmly, reaching out to still Greg’s head by cupping his face in his fingers. “You, Gregory, are exquisite.” He kissed him firmly before pulling back. “Confounding.” Another kiss. “Delectable.” Kiss. “Extraordinary.”

Greg hummed against Mycroft’s lips and pressed his weight down onto the other man’s thighs. He took control of the kiss, parting Mycroft’s lips with his own and thrusting his tongue against Mycroft’s, stroking and tasting until his moan reverberated through Greg's chest.

“And I’m fun.” Greg chided, his lips curling up into a smile.

 “And you’re fun,” Mycroft conceded with a chuckle before capturing Greg’s lips once again.

The passionate kisses slowly gave way to soft giggling when it became obvious that Mycroft’s legs had fallen asleep under Greg’s weight. After a few moments of awkward shifting as they each tried to prevent the other from falling off a sofa that was far too narrow for two fully grown men to share, Mycroft found himself on his back with Greg lying on top of him, their legs tangled together and Greg’s head resting on his chest. They lay in silence, the only sound was the rasp of Mycroft’s fingers dragging over the cotton of Greg’s shirt, as he ran his hands up and down Greg’s back.

“Mycroft?”

“Hmm?”

“This is good, yeah?”

“This is perfect, Gregory.”

Greg sighed and nuzzled his cheek against the rich fabric of Mycroft’s shirt. “Good. I’m glad. I just, you know, didn’t want you to be disappointed or anything.”

Mycroft ran his hand up Greg’s back before gently tipping his chin upward to meet his gaze. “Why would I possibly be disappointed?” he asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

Greg blushed lightly and glanced away. Mycroft tapped his index finger gently against Greg’s lip to regain his attention and simply raised his eyebrows in question when Greg looked back up at him.

“It’s just that most blokes wouldn’t be content with a snog and a cuddle.”

“Isn’t it fortuitous that I don’t fall into that category.”

“Still…”

“Gregory, as I said before, this is perfect. I think you would do well to take your own advice…”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Stop thinking.”

Greg snorted and pressed his face down into Mycroft’s chest. “Wow…fun and smart…I’m quite a catch.”

“I concur.”

The minutes passed in silence, both men content in sharing soft caresses and gentle kisses, before Mycroft felt the need to interrupt the quiet.

“How long has it been, then, since you’ve shared the company of another man? If that isn’t too forward a question, of course.”

Greg coughed lightly, taking a moment to cover his embarrassment. “A long time…fifteen, sixteen years or so. I was married for a long time.”

Mycroft hummed noncommittally and resumed stroking Greg’s back.

“You?”

“That depends on what you are asking…do you wish to know how long it’s been since I’ve had a sexual encounter, or how long it’s been since my last relationship?”

“Both.”

“Three years since my last sexual partner, ten since my previous relationship ended.”

Greg glanced up and felt a pang of nervousness in his chest when Mycroft wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Mycroft? It’s okay, you know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, his chest rising steeply under Greg, before smiling sadly as he exhaled.

“His name was Richard. We were together a number of years.”

“What happened?”

“He died.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Quite unexpected. A car accident. I was away at the time, my career just beginning to gather steam and I was unavailable when the call came in. I found out hours after the fact.”

“Jesus, that’s… I’m sorry, Mycroft. That’s terrible.”

“It remains one of the few times in my memory that Sherlock was legitimately, and quite rightly, concerned for my well-being. It was hardly a perfect relationship, but at the time it was a devastating loss.”

 _Excellent, Mycroft_. _Just perfect. Why don’t you talk some more about your dead partner while you have the man of your dreams wrapped in your arms. This is precisely what happens when you ‘stop thinking’._

Mycroft was shocked out of his self-flagellation when Greg pressed forward and kissed him gently. “I’m sorry, Mycroft. I know all too well how terrible it is when someone you love is taken from you. I see it every day, and I’m sorry that you lost him.”

Mycroft swallowed thickly and pulled Greg tightly against him. After a few deep breaths, he pressed a kiss into the silver hair and mumbled, “I haven’t spoken of that day in years, not to anyone. God, the things you make me do, Gregory.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

“Not at all. Just surprising. And I am not a man who is easily surprised.”

“That’s because you’ve never had to deal with a Lestrade. We’re a notoriously sneaky lot.”

“As I’m learning. I must remember to keep my guard up, lest you find yourself the cause of a national security breach. ”

“Sneaky, but able to keep a secret. Should be our family motto, really. You don’t have to hide from me…just make sure you don’t tell me anything that could get me killed, okay?

“You have my word.”

Silence filled the room again as both returned to their quiet thoughts. Greg couldn’t remember a time that he felt more content. It wasn’t until he nearly dozed off, the spicy smell of Mycroft’s cologne and the repetitive motion of his hands on his back lulling him closer and closer to sleep, that he felt the need break the reverie.

“You know, I should be getting home. It’s probably late, and we both need to be at work in the morning.”

Mycroft sighed and held Greg a bit tighter. “I find myself very loath to let you go, Gregory. I haven’t had such an enjoyable evening in a very long time.”

“Me either. It’s been perfect.”

“Does that mean that we will be afforded a repeat performance in the future? The near future?”

Greg chuckled and leaned up to kiss Mycroft softly. “Absolutely. As soon as we can, yeah?”

Mycroft hummed and kissed Greg’s forehead before gently nudging the man upright.

It took another ten minutes for Greg to finally reach the front door, having been distracted a number of times by additional kisses and caresses, which may or may not have involved at least one opportunistic arse grope. Once there, Greg hauled Mycroft into one last passionate kiss before winking at him and jogging down the stairs to the waiting car.

 

* * *

 

While he shaved the next morning, Mycroft found himself smiling at his reflection in the mirror. Finally, _finally_ , he had been bold enough to kiss Gregory. And to find that his feelings were returned…

He was still smiling when he entered the kitchen to find Claire’s nanny already puttering around the room.

“Good Morning, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft inclined his head. “Mrs. Brunner.”

As Mycroft moved toward the coffee maker, he found himself unceremoniously nudged over to the table in the nook where a cup of coffee and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs and toast were waiting. Accepting that any argument he could pose now would be a lost cause, he sat down and began to eat without complaint.

After several minutes of silence, Ada spoke up.

“Your Detective Inspector seems to be a very good man. Claire is certainly fond of him.”

Mycroft hummed his agreement as he took a sip of coffee.

“Gregory is, undoubtedly, one of the best individuals I have the pleasure to be acquainted with.”

When his statement was met with a warm and somewhat knowing smile, Mycroft rethought the last two sentences. He cleared his throat and added, “And despite what you might be implying, he is in no way _my_ Detective Inspector.”

“Oh, of course, of course. I only meant that he was your guest. My apologies…you know, sometimes…my English…”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. “I understand the English language can be quite challenging at times, and with you having lived in England for only eighteen years…”

Ada clucked at him and scowled, turning back to the pile of ingredients before her, one which Mycroft could only assume would possibly be turned into biscuits of some sort. He stood up and took his plate and mug to the sink, and began the washing up.

“That was delicious, by the way. Thank you.”

Ada smiled at him and nodded.

“And while I thoroughly appreciate your cooking me breakfast, it is certainly not within your job responsibilities. I hired you to care for Claire, not to act as my cook. Or my housekeeper, for that matter.”

Ada turned to face him, wiping the flour from her hands with a towel. “I know what you hired me for, Mr. Holmes, but it appears I am needed in those capacities as well.”

When Mycroft started to protest, she interrupted. “It is sometimes difficult, when we have lived alone too long, to know what is best for ourselves. And also, too easy to forget what it feels like to be cared for.” Ada smiled mischievously. “In any case, I’m sure you will see to my pay rise. Now if you’ll excuse me, it is time that I wake Claire and get her ready for school.”

Mycroft sighed as he watched her leave the room, before shaking his head. _Trouble speaking English, my arse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs referenced in this chapter are here...have a listen:
> 
> Nina Simone, Feelin' Good http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfJRX-8SXOs  
> Sonata in F minor (K.466) by Domenico Scarlatti, played by Vladmir Horowitz http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YV3Avalm5KM


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to Baker Street to speak with Sherlock. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been extremely long in coming...real life drama happened.
> 
> As always lyricalsoul was an amazing beta. I love her thoughts and this story, as a whole, is markedly improved because she has been so kind and patient with a new writer.

Two days later, Mycroft found himself at Baker Street, staring down his petulant brother while a cup of weak tea sat cooling on the table beside him.  He had come to tell Sherlock about Claire and inform him that he was, for all intents and purposes, an uncle. He had been hoping, rather naively it seemed, that his brother would have allowed him to say his piece and continue on his way. Sherlock, however, had other plans, instead greeting Mycroft with a stony silence, a half-hearted wave into the room, and quite possibly the worst cup of tea in existence. 

Thankfully, their staring match was broken when John burst through the door, arms laden with shopping bags, and apparently in quite a snit.

“Just one time! One time, Sherlock… would it kill you to help with the bloody shopping?” 

He stormed into the kitchen, not even glancing at the two men sitting near the fireplace, his rant well and truly underway. He continued on uninterrupted while he put the shopping away, slamming cupboards in the process.

“It’s not like I’m the only person who eats around here. Granted you don’t do it often, but when Your Highness finally deigns to stoop to the level of us mere mortals and have a meal, you manage to hoover down everything that even remotely resembles food!” 

After a few more bangs and a string of colorful cursing, John strode into the sitting room, coming up short as he realized that he and Sherlock were not alone.

“Ah…Mycroft…um…sorry about that. What are you doing here?” 

“Good afternoon, John. My apologies for arriving unannounced.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Oh please, like you’d ever apologise for that.” 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and glanced toward his brother disdainfully.

John sighed quietly as he walked further into the sitting room. “Yeah, no, it’s no problem at all. Would you…Christ, Sherlock, really?” 

Sherlock looked up sharply, before looking away rather sheepishly as John motioned toward the pitiful cup of tea sitting next to Mycroft.

“You honestly offered that to you brother? Really? That’s just childish, and you know it. You know how to make a proper cup of tea, I know you do. You’re just being a git.” 

John quickly walked over and gathered up the offending cup. He shook his head and then looked over to Mycroft and shrugged.

“At least you were smart enough not to drink it. I guarantee that this morning that cup had something in it that would make you terribly sick.” 

“A solution with mildly emetic qualities at best. No need to be melodramatic, John,” Sherlock muttered before jumping to his feet to collect his violin.

“You forget, John, I am well versed in my dear brother’s antics. I know better than to drink something he offers so willingly. Especially when he smiles as it is delivered. He’s been trying to poison me for years.”

“Oh come now,” Sherlock replied mildly, turning to face Mycroft, “It’s not like I’ve actively tried to kill you. Besides, being mildly ill might help you to lose that extra half-stone you’ve been trying to jog away.” 

“Sherlock! Enough!” John looked at Sherlock and raised his eyebrows pointedly. “You agreed that you were not going to mention your brother’s weight again. And unlike you, he is actually at a healthy weight for his frame, so it’s not like your jibes hold any water, anyway.”

“What? When did I agree to that?” 

“A few months ago,” John replied, moving toward the kitchen, “though it is possible you weren’t in the room at the time.”

“That’s hardly fair!” 

“You seem to think it’s fair when you do it me. Pot, Kettle.”

Sherlock let out an annoyed huff and flopped back into his chair, glaring at Mycroft as he plucked the strings of his violin, which was clutched to his chest. 

Mycroft let him stew a bit, refusing to shift under his brother’s glare, as he listened to the sounds of John making tea. He smiled politely when John delivered a new cup to the table next to his chair before handing another off to Sherlock.

“No poison or otherwise questionable substances this time, I promise,” he said with a smile before leaning against the mantle beside Sherlock’s chair. 

“You have my thanks, John.”

“Why are you here Mycroft?” Sherlock demanded, swallowing his tea with a rude slurp. 

Mycroft took a long, slow drink of his tea, humming quietly in appreciation. He was biding his time…it would not do to answer Sherlock immediately. Every interaction between them had an undercurrent of a power play and he refused to let his brother win this round simply because he was currently in Sherlock’s sitting room.

“I came to inform you, brother dear, that my situation has changed.” 

“Oh, dear God, Mycroft, you didn’t…?”

“I’m afraid I did. And everything is going quite smoothly, thank you so much for asking.” Mycroft couldn’t help but allow a small measure of sarcasm to colour his response. Sherlock was being deliberately hurtful and despite his years of dealing with his brother’s petulance, he was not inclined to allow it regarding this particular subject. 

“Wait, what? What did I miss here?” John interrupted with a frown, looking between Sherlock and Mycroft.

“My brother has decided to play ‘Daddy’,” Sherlock sneered. 

“What?”

“The child, John! The little girl from the crime scene a few weeks ago. Love affair gone wrong…adultery resulting in brain matter splattered on the walls…even you must remember that!” 

“Okay, yes, of course I remember. But what does that have to do with Mycroft?”

“What my brother is so charmingly alluding to is that I have chosen to bec” 

Sherlock waved his hands in frustration, interrupting Mycroft’s explanation.  “Oh for God’s sake! He took in the child! He used his influence to convince a number of seriously deluded individuals that he actually has feelings and is now playing at a happy family scenario that is not only utterly ridiculous, but is also completely nauseating!”

Mycroft gripped his tea cup firmly, steadying his hands. “I did not use my influence to secure her placement, Sherlock,” he replied, swallowing the angry retort simmering below the surface. “I simply offered the fact that I could provide the child with a stable home, and more opportunities than she would have if she were placed in the child care system. I assure you, there were no clandestine meetings held in dark warehouses.” 

John chuckled and batted Sherlock in the back of the head. “No, you save those for when they involve your twat of brother here. Seriously though, Mycroft, good for you. I’m glad you were willing to take her in. You’re right, she’ll have a better go of things with you watching out for her than if she were in the system. It’s necessary, of course, and the carers do what they can, but it’s hardly the best situation for a kid to be raised in if it can be avoided.”

Sherlock snorted. “Yes, and the CCTV laden, cloak and dagger, spy-central you call a home is so much better, brother.” 

Mycroft sighed and stood up, tugging his waistcoat into place and hooking his umbrella over his arm. “I did not come here to debate my living conditions, Sherlock. I simply came to tell you that I now have a delightful child living with me, whose name is Claire and is five years old, should you be interested in those matters, and to invite both you and John to my home for dinner so you might meet her.  I did, however, fail to take into account your ability to act even more immature than my young charge. Good day, gentleman.”

Mycroft turned to leave, refusing to acknowledge Sherlock’s scowl, and was surprised to feel John’s hand on his shoulder as he reached the door. 

“Mycroft,” John said softly, causing him to pause. “Look, I’m sorry about him. He hasn’t had a case in days, and you know how he gets.”

Mycroft turned slightly to face John and sighed lightly. “I do, indeed. I simply thought he might be interested in the fact that he is now an uncle.” 

“He’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Yes, well, I won’t hold out much hope.” Mycroft nodded sharply before pulling the door open. “Best of luck to you, John.” 

John turned back into the room and fought the urge to simply walk up and smack the smug look off Sherlock’s face.

“So…dinner at Mycroft’s then?” John ventured, breaking the silence. 

Sherlock snorted, plucking his violin’s strings angrily.

“This whole thing is utterly ridiculous, John. Honestly, I don’t know why we are even having this discussion. It’s hardly worth my attention. We are absolutely not going to my brother’s for dinner. This whole thing is obviously a plot to make me…” 

“No. Stop it,” John cut in. “You are not allowed to be callous about this. This is not about you, Sherlock.”

“I do not intend to give this whole ‘happy family’ scenario my brother is pandering another second of my focus. Do be serious,” Sherlock sneered, shouldering his violin and striding over to gaze out the window. 

“I am being perfectly serious, Sherlock,” John continued quietly.

Sherlock paused at John’s tone, bow pressed to string. Quiet from John Watson meant only one thing – danger – and Sherlock knew without even turning, that John was dangerously angry. At him.

“John, I-” 

“I have let you get away with your condescension and utterly horrendous people skills. I have held my tongue over and over again when you are being a cruel, dismissive bastard. Even when you do it to me. And do you know why?” John paused, gathering a breath and crossing his hands behind his back.

The question was rhetorical. Even Sherlock, with his ‘utterly horrendous people skills’ knew better than to offer up an answer. Instead he lowered his violin and tipped his chin slightly over his right shoulder, not making eye contact, but acknowledging that their conversation had continued beyond his dismissal. 

“It would be in your best interests to turn the bloody fuck around right this minute and look at me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock tensed noticeably. Since his “return,” John refused to coddle him or hold back his anger when he felt that Sherlock was in the wrong. It remained the most obvious evidence that their friendship had been irrevocably changed.  Sherlock complied immediately, leveling his gaze at John’s eyes and setting his shoulders against the now inevitable onslaught. 

“I asked you a question. Do you know why, Sherlock?”

“No, John. Do enlighten me,” he retorted, habit forcing him to shoot for casual indifference, but falling fall short, and landing firmly in the territory of honest confusion. John’s ability to put up with him, even in his worst of moods, had always baffled him. 

“Because, you utter wanker, I know that underneath it all…underneath all of the scorn, and mockery and frankly shit behavior that you hide behind…I know that it’s a defence mechanism. You push everyone away so that no one can get close enough to actually hurt you. Because you have been hurt, haven’t you? Somewhere along the line, before you became the untouchable arsehole that everyone else sees, someone got close, and that someone hurt you. And now, rather than having dealt with it, like everyone else in the whole goddamned world, you pull this shit.”

John’s calm was now starting to show signs of fracture. He reflexively clenched and relaxed his fists, his anger betrayed by the tightness around his eyes. 

“After everything, everything we’ve been through, you still can’t admit that you honestly care about people. That you care about your brother. You still believe that ‘alone protects you’. And you know what, Sherlock? For all of your genius, you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried. Alone makes you fucking miserable.”

“And how is it that you came to that decision John?” Sherlock bit out, and immediately regretted it. The unspoken line they had both agreed not to cross after his return was now behind him. 

“Because I was alone for two years, Sherlock!” John roared, his anger finally spilling out into fierceness. “Two years when I thought my best friend was dead! And I was alone all those nights after Mary and the baby…” John choked on the words, tears immediately filling his eyes. He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to regain his composure before sliding back into the pit of despair that was filled with the memory of his lovely wife and their unborn child. The memories of the time before the accident that stole his idyllic future from him. 

John sighed and scrubbed his hand across his face, and continued so quietly that Sherlock had to strain to hear him. “You will never, never be able to understand what it’s like to lose the people that you love.” 

“I know what it’s like, John. I lost you too. For those two years, I lost you, too.”

“Difference is, you always knew you were coming back.” 

“No. I hoped. I never knew for sure, but I hoped.”

The silence that followed was physically painful. Oppressive. 

John clenched his fists breathing in and out, trying to get his emotions in check. “You will join me at your brother’s house for dinner, Sherlock. And you will be gracious. Or at very least, you will shut your mouth and sit there.

“Regardless of what you think about the situation, or what motives you think prompted it, or how much of disaster you think it will turn out to be, your brother has allowed another person into his life. He is trying. He has managed to show kindness to someone who has absolutely nothing to offer him. And he continues to include you in his life, despite that fact that you have been nothing but cruel to him for as long as I’ve known you. 

“I don’t give a damn if you don’t like him; I don’t particularly like him either. And I don’t give a damn if you think this whole bloody thing is the biggest bloody mistake in the world. I don’t give a damn what you think…you’re going. Mycroft has finally, FINALLY figured out that being alone is shit goal to aim for in life. And you are going to be as supportive as your stunted sense of responsibility can manage. We are not having this discussion again. You. Are. Going. Are. Are Going. Yeah?”

Sherlock swallowed visibly, and dipped his chin. 

John nodded in response, turned sharply on his heel, and stormed out of the flat.

 

* * *

 

Back in the relative safety of his car, Mycroft was surprised to notice that his hands were shaking. After years of dealing with Sherlock’s antics, Mycroft always felt that he was rather immune to his brother’s outbursts. Strange how his body seemed to be betraying him.

It wasn’t that he was expecting Sherlock to be particularly supportive. Of course not. He had expected a certain amount of condescension and pique, as was normal with most of their interactions. He did not, however, expect Sherlock to accuse him of using his political influence to secure Claire’s placement, nor his thinly veiled accusation that he would use the child as some sort of strategic pawn. The fact that he had, angered Mycroft to a level that had him feeling physically ill, and noticeably flustered. It wouldn’t do. He needed to calm himself before his series of afternoon meetings. 

After spending five minutes sitting with his eyes closed in the still parked car, trying to regulate his temper, Mycroft finally gave in and picked up his mobile. He grimaced as his fingers shook above the keys.

Mycroft bit back a sigh when the other party answered. 

“Lestrade.”

“Gregory, pleasant to hear your voice.” 

“Um, yeah, hi. Hang on a mo.” Mycroft looked out the window as the phone was suddenly muffled.

“Yeah, right. I know. I just have to take this call. It’s important. Tell Matthews I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Yeah, I don’t care if he’s not going to like it, just tell him.” 

Gregory came back on the line and sighed. “Sorry about that. What can I do for you, Mycroft?”

“I apologise, Gregory. I seem to have called at a bad time.” 

“No. No, it’s fine. I’m just on my way to a meeting. “

“I shouldn’t keep you. I’m not calling for anything terribly important.” There was no way that he could say the really reason for his call. Mycroft was sure that saying “I miss you, I’ve had a terrible morning, and I wanted to hear your voice,” was not only inappropriate, but bordering on pathetic and clingy. 

“Mycroft, you aren’t really one to call up and chat. You wouldn’t have rung me if it wasn’t important. What’s going on?”

Mycroft took a deep breath, refusing to allow himself to sigh. “I was simply hoping that you might be free to get a cup of coffee or a light lunch. I have several meetings this afternoon that are unavoidable, but I had a few moments free.” 

“Damn. That sounds perfect. But I’m already late for a meeting.”

“Of course, I understand completely. Needs must and all that.” 

“Look, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound happy.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Mycroft…”

“Gregory, please, I’m fine. No need to worry yourself.” 

“Okay, look, I have to go, but the meeting shouldn’t run for more than about an hour. Would that work? Lunch in an hour?”

Mycroft mentally rearranged his schedule and made a note to send a quick text off to Anthea to move his next meeting to the end of the day. “That sounds wonderful, Gregory. If you’re sure that you have time?" 

“I’ll make time. No worries. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Indeed. I shall have a car waiting at Scotland Yard in an hour. And Gregory…thank you.” 

“Of course. Bye.”

Gregory rang off before Mycroft could say another word. Leaning forward, Mycroft lowered the privacy screen between himself and his driver, asking to be taken to St. James Park, which was near enough to the Yard so as to be convenient. He slumped back against the seat and ran his hand across his face. Had he really just asked Gregory to rearrange his schedule to accommodate one of his whims? 

Mycroft sighed. He was exhausted. Claire had not been sleeping well the last few nights, waking up several times with nightmares. And while he was used to going without a great deal of sleep, Mycroft found that the emotional investment required to calm a frightened child was wearing. It seemed he had forgotten so much from Sherlock’s childhood.

It didn’t help matters that he also found himself being distracted from his work by memories of the evening that he shared with Gregory. He never expected to feel close to another man in the way he had when Richard was alive. He had neatly tucked those memories away and scarcely gave them another thought. That is until Gregory invited him to join him and Claire on their little adventure to the zoo. Mycroft knew that Gregory was interested, obviously he was, but after years of putting aside these emotions, it was draining to have them suddenly spring up into the forefront of his thoughts. 

As the car rolled to a stop, Mycroft gathered his umbrella and stepped out onto the pavement. He dismissed his driver, telling him that he would ring when his services were needed again. Glancing at his watch, he realized that he had time to walk over to the Yard and meet Gregory, and enjoy the pleasant weather in the interim. While his shoes were not ideal for a stroll, they would do, and perhaps he would have enough time to calm his nerves before lunch.

Mycroft took his time, enjoying his rare sojourn through the city. While he traveled a great deal, there was no place in the world he loved as much as London. The sounds, the smells, even the traffic and the tourists, had long become a part of who he was. As a teen, he and Sherlock occasionally had the opportunity to come into the city to visit their Uncle Reginald, and the trio had spent countless hours wandering through the streets and alleyways, conjuring stories of heroes and villains and daring escapes. It was unsurprising, he mused, how much Sherlock took after his uncle and how he had managed to build a life replicating the adventures he so adored as a child. 

Nostalgia was a comfortable companion as Mycroft walked toward Scotland Yard, and he was feeling almost calm again when his mobile rang. Glancing at the number, his heart dropped.

“Hello, Gregory.” 

“Hi Mycroft. Listen, I’m really sorry about this, but we just got a call. Three bodies, found floating in the Thames. I’m on my way to the scene, hoping to beat your brother there so he doesn’t turn my witnesses into sniveling messes with his stellar personality.”

“Of course, duty calls. I understand completely.” 

“I knew you would, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about canceling on you.”

“There is no need. You have an important job with an unpredictable schedule. These things happen.”

“We’ll reschedule, yeah? Soon as we can.” 

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Great. I’ve gotta go. Bye.” 

Mycroft sighed as Greg rang off before waiting for a response. “Goodbye, Gregory,” he muttered. Sparing a quick glance at his pocket watch, he placed the call to inform his driver of his location, any improvement to his mood thoroughly ruined.

  

* * *

 

The case turned out to be a fairly simple one, returning Sherlock and John to Baker Street within two hours. The trip to and from the crime scene held the distinction of being the most silent cab ride that Sherlock could ever remember taking since John returned to the flat after Mary and the baby passed away, the result of a tragic car accident just a month before the child was due.

Once settled in the flat, John set about making tea, as was his habit. He plunked Sherlock’s mug on the coffee table, near where he was sprawled out on the sofa, and then settled into his armchair with a grunt. 

“I must commend you, John. I thought that it was only Mrs. Hudson who could announce her displeasure through the passive-aggressive delivery of tea.”

John glared down at his cup. “Not in the mood, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock groaned and sat up, rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration.

“It is obvious that you are still angry about earlier. What is it that you would have me do this time to ease your mood?” 

This time John glared directly at him.

“John, there is no possible way for me to learn about proper human interaction if you continue to fail to provide me with adequate information. Come now, we could choose to see this as a learning opportunity, rather than a row.” 

“Learning opportunity, huh? Really? Alright then, why do you dislike the fact that Mycroft is adopting a kid? Afraid you won’t be the center of his attention anymore?”

Sherlock sniffed loudly and looked out the window. 

“No? Not going to bite on that subject? Why don’t you start with why you are always acting like an arse whenever your brother is around?”

“You’re not going to let that drop, are you?” 

John laughed, sarcasm turning the sound bitter and sharp. “Oh no, no, no…you wanted to use this as a ‘learning opportunity’. So that’s where we’re gonna start. So you better start talking, yeah?”

Heaving a huge put-upon sigh, Sherlock gathered his mug and moved to sit in his chair across from John. 

“I shall deny with my dying breath that this conversation ever took place.” Sherlock pouted, looking much like the petulant child John often compared him to in his head. “Mycroft is smarter than me.  He’s the one who taught me how to deduce, how to seek conclusions where only minute evidence exists. And not only did he teach me, he can do it better and faster than I can, much to my ongoing annoyance.”

“When we were children, we did not, as you might expect, get along with other children. They were intimidated by our intelligence, and we both had even fewer people skills than we do now.” 

John shuddered at the thought, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes.

“Yes. Quite.” Sherlock sipped his tea and then continued. “We had an uncle, my mother’s older brother, Reginald, who took it upon himself to see that Mycroft and I were entertained during his visits. A scientist himself, he filled our time with chemistry experiments, logic problems, and ciphers written into languages we didn’t speak. He answered nearly every question we posed to him, a not inconsiderable task, and helped us to find the answers he did not readily know. I idolized the man. And I think, in many ways, Mycroft did as well.” 

While Sherlock was speaking, John allowed a portion of his attention to slide away and imagine a young Sherlock and Mycroft running around a cluttered house, dragging a laughing adult behind them as they explored. It was a surprisingly homey scene that seemed a bit at odds with the enigmatic Holmes brothers that he knew.

“I was eight when Uncle Reg died. Mycroft was fifteen. The cancer spread quickly and he was already quite ill by the time he told my mother. We only saw him once after that, in hospital, quite literally on his death bed. It was a devastating loss.

 “After that, we both shut down, each in our own way. Whereas I shut everyone out, refusing to speak for days on end, Mycroft let everyone in. He ascribed to his role as eldest son with every bit of his determination, providing Mummy with perfect example to show everyone just how well we were getting on. Except no one really saw him. Just the calm, cool veneer which turned easily into that of a ‘minor government official.’

“Over the years, I suppose that we just started doing the same with each other. I shouted at him, he responded with as little feeling as possible. We forgot that we were supposed to be the exception.” 

Sherlock sighed and finished his tea. Just as John was wondering what to say to fill the silence, Sherlock looked up and spread his hands palm up.

“If you are looking for some watershed event that estranged me from my brother, there isn’t one. Not really. Nothing more than poor communication, sibling rivalry, and his overprotective nature. But regardless of the cause, the result is still the same. We tolerate each other when we have to, rely on each other only when absolutely necessary, and try to annoy each other as often as possible. That’s all there is…nothing more.” 

John watched Sherlock for several long moments, trying to discern the emotion behind the mask. With no additional information forthcoming, he chimed in quietly, “You can change that, you know…”

Sherlock shook his head, “No, John, our relationship will continue as it is. Even if I thought it could change, I would have no idea where to start.” 

Rising to his feet, John gathered up the mugs and went into the kitchen to do the washing up. As he left the room, he looked back over his shoulder.

“You’re a clever man. Figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft hung his jacket on the hook beside the door and took off his shoes. Trying did not even begin to describe the day he had had. After spending a frankly ridiculous seven hours in meetings, which would have taken three if he hadn’t been dealing with arrogant idiots, he had spent the last two hours sorting through paperwork in his office. He was tired, hungry, and desperately wanted to forget his day.

As he walked through the house, he was unsurprised at how quiet it seemed. Claire had obviously gone to bed several hours ago, and her nanny was, no doubt, relaxing in her own portion of the house. When he wandered into the kitchen to see what he could find to eat, he was pleased to see a note from Ada indicating that his evening meal was being kept warm for him.

Deciding to check on Claire before he ate, Mycroft padded quietly down the hallway into her room. The bedside lamp softly illuminated the room and he sat on the bed near where Claire had burrowed herself completely under the duvet, only her dark curls spilling out from under the covers. Mycroft folded down the edge of the duvet, exposing her sleeping face snuggled against the pillow. Claire stirred slightly as Mycroft smoothed down her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight. Rest well, bijou.”

He paused in the doorway as he left the room, smiling softly as she mumbled in her sleep.  As he returned to the kitchen, he realized that he felt happy for the first time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to make this story series 3 compliant, I made a small change to Chapter 3 and brought Mycroft and Sherlock's father back from the dead. And, I'm pleased to note, I did so without turning this into zombie!lock! I just killed off Uncle Reg instead.
> 
> Also, don't worry...Sherlock redeems himself in Chapter 11. Rather spectacularly, I might add.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets her Uncle Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm still writing! The last two months have been dramatic, to say the least. I lost my job, freaked out a bit, found a new job, struggled to write anything worthwhile, and needed countless pep-talks. But Chapter 11 is complete, and Chapter 12 is in the works.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend and beta, lyricalsoul. You were my sounding board and my friend during one of the most stressful periods in my adult life. My gratitude is endless... 
> 
> And she makes utterly brilliant cookies!

Strangely enough, aside from a half-hearted concern for some of his more precious pieces of furniture, Mycroft found not only that he didn’t mind the fact that he had both a child and a grown man running around the room, but he also had the urge to actively waylay Greg a bit so Claire could escape. As soon as he rose to put his plan into action, Claire skidded to a stop so suddenly that Greg nearly tripped over her.

Whirling around to face her pursuer, Claire tossed her hands into the air and exclaimed “I forgot!” and then dashed out of the room and up the stairs.

Greg turned to face Mycroft, his forehead scrunched in confusion. “What just happened?”

“Claire forgot that she made a gift for you. Several, in fact, despite my protests concerning the available wall space in both your flat and your office.”

“Okay…should I be concerned?”

“Not at all. However, what you should do…” Mycroft caught Greg’s wrist and slowly pulled him forward, “is come here.”

Greg took a few halting steps toward Mycroft, drawing out the action as long as he dared. He grinned when Mycroft’s patience ran out and he was tugged forcefully against the other man's chest, their joined hands coming to rest at the small of Greg’s back.

“You ridiculous man…” Mycroft murmured as he grasped the back of Greg’s neck with his free hand and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. After they broke apart, Mycroft pressed his cheek against Greg’s, and settled a soft kiss just below his ear. “You can’t imagine how badly I’ve wanted to do that in the last eight days.”

“Yeah, I can. I’ve wanted to just grab you the moment I first walked in. Why do you think I invited myself over?” Greg smiled sheepishly. “Claire isn’t the only one I missed, even though that’s what I told you.”

“I see. So, you lied to me, did you, Gregory?”

“’Course not. I’m a D.I., after all. The most I’ll admit to is a bit of misdirection through the selective release of information.”

“You’re trying to outmanoeuvre me using vocabulary? You are a brave man…”

“I was banking on the fact that you weren’t going to be too upset.”

“On the contrary, Gregory. I don’t appreciate being lied to, or even ‘misdirected,’ as the case may be.” Mycroft leaned forward and ran his lips up Greg’s jaw before nipping at his earlobe. “However, I am willing to be merciful in my punishment.”

Greg shuddered. “Oh, Christ…” he sighed as he tucked his head into Mycroft’s neck, feeling Mycroft swallow in response.

The sound of small feet thundering back down the staircase forced the two men to break apart before they could explore that particular train of thought any further.

Claire skidded into the room, sliding across the polished floor in her stocking feet as she rounded the corner. She stopped in front of Greg, so close that he had to take a step backwards in order to see more of her than just the top of her head.

“I made you something!”

Greg shared a conspiratorial smile with Mycroft. “Really?”

“Uh huh. I drew you one picture for every day that I didn’t get to see you. That way you have enough for your office and your house!”

“Wow! That’s a lot of pictures…every day, huh?”

“Yup, all eight of them!” Claire shoved a stack of slightly wrinkled, though very colorful pictures into his hands and then proceeded to push him toward the sofa. Greg threw a fond but slightly exasperated look towards Mycroft, who responded by mouthing the word “punishment” and winking mischievously.

Claire’s enthusiasm for showing Greg her pictures was so all-encompassing that she didn’t even trail off when the doorbell rang. Mycroft stood gracefully and turned toward the doorway, waiting for Ada to escort his unexpected visitors upstairs. When he identified the familiar footsteps on the staircase he sighed loudly enough that Greg looked up in concern. A concern which quickly morphed into a similar sounding sigh when Sherlock’s deep voice floated up the stairs.

“Really, John, a housekeeper? Walking up and down the stairs to answer the door was likely the only exercise Mycroft ever had.”

Mycroft fought the urge to run his hand across his brow in frustration. Not only was Sherlock notoriously ill-mannered, he also had a terrible sense of timing. Ada’s stern voice broke through his thoughts of temporarily deporting his brother in order to gain a night without Sherlock’s interference.

“I’ll thank you to be polite to my employer, Mr. Holmes. I don’t care if he is your brother; I have no problem showing you out if you continue to be rude.”

Mycroft bit back a laugh. Ada would certainly find a bonus in her next pay cheque.

Sherlock strode into the room, with John a step behind. The distinct lack of Sherlock’s swirling Belstaff indicated that this was to be more than just a momentary interruption. He stopped short when he saw Greg sitting on the sofa with Claire, pictures strewn about the cushions and coffee table.

“What are you doing here, Lestrade? I realize that I told you that your latest case was obvious and boring, but I assumed you would have had more pride than to go crawling to my brother for help.”

Greg stood and glared at Sherlock, his arms folded across his chest. “I didn’t come here to ask Mycroft for help, you sod. We managed to solve it on our own, ta very much. I’m here because I wanted to see Claire. Mycroft was kind enough to offer dinner.”

Sherlock snorted, but didn’t otherwise reply.

John glared at Sherlock, then turned to Greg.

“Good to see you again, mate. Don’t let him get to you; he’s in a bit of a mood.”

“Amazed you even got him out of the flat, then.”

“Yeah, well… he’s got something he needs to discuss with Mycroft. Don’t you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock scowled and shrugged. When it became clear that he was not going to speak with an audience present, John nodded over to Claire who was watching the proceedings from the couch.

“So, Greg, you want to introduce me?”

“Um…yeah, sure. Right.”

Greg led John over to the sofa to make introductions, leaving Sherlock to frown at his brother.

Mycroft watched them go, before turning to address Sherlock. It was surprising just how much anger he still felt regarding his brother’s earlier outburst regarding Claire. It was obvious that John had put him up to this apology, but he was damned if he was going to make it easier on Sherlock.

“So, Sherlock, was there something you wanted to say?”

“You know why I’m here, Mycroft.”

“Of course I do. But I find myself rather inclined to hear the words out loud.”Mycroft smiled wanly. “If you’d be so kind?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’ve come to tell you, I’m sorry.”

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. _Oh Sherlock, did you honestly believe I would let you off the hook so easily?_

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, his brother’s thoughts clearly conveyed. He took a deep breath. “Mycroft, I am…sorry. Truly. I should never have suggested that your association with the child was for political gain. It was…uncalled for and patently untrue. I apologise.”

Mycroft studied his brother for a few moments, quietly considering the obvious sincerity in Sherlock’s apology despite his irascible delivery. “And you are forgiven, of course,” he replied with a small, but genuine smile. “Now, would you care to meet your niece?”

Claire was sat between John and Greg holding one of her pictures, patiently explaining how the blue blob in the center of the drawing was clearly a bunny. When John pointed to the similar looking brown splotch nearby and asked if that was a rabbit as well, Claire sighed and shook her head. Mycroft had made the same mistake earlier in the week and knew, after suffering Claire’s annoyance, that the brown splotch was a dog.

He waited for her to finish her explanation, before clearing his throat. Claire looked up at him expectantly, causing Sherlock to stop fidgeting abruptly.

“Claire, my dear, allow me to introduce my brother, Sherlock.”

Claire looked quickly between Mycroft and Sherlock.

“Hullo.”

Sherlock nodded before frowning slightly and cocking his head to the right. “Why is that tortoise wearing a jumper?” he asked, pointing to the drawing in John’s hand.

“Because he is from Africa, and he got cold when he moved to London.”

“I see. Of course…that’s very clever.”

Greg was surprised when Sherlock rounded the table and nudged him out of the way, forcing him to stand as the other man stole the seat next to Claire.

“And this one?” Sherlock asked, pulling another sketch from the table. “Is that a monkey with a top hat?”

“He’s a very posh monkey.”

Greg shook his head and smiled, making his way over to Mycroft’s side, standing slightly closer than normal.

“So, I’m fairly certain that I need to get my hearing checked,” he murmured, quietly enough that the trio on the sofa could not hear him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think my ears must be going. I thought I just heard Sherlock apologising to you.”

“You did indeed. Rather unexpectedly, I might add. I’m not entirely sure if I should be thankful or start preparing for the end of days.”

Greg chuckled. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes open for the plague of locusts, just in case.”

“A sound course of action, to be sure.”

“And now he’s talking to a kid about whether or not you could put a bow tie on a marmoset.”

“Claire does seem strangely obsessed with animals wearing clothing, doesn’t she? Should I be concerned?”

“I’m more concerned that Sherlock seems to be giving the whole thing serious consideration. I assumed he would find those types of conversations beneath him.”

Mycroft smiled. “I think you’ll find that Sherlock is quite good with children. He’s rather fond of them, truth be told.”

“Really? He can’t even stand talking to adults! How does he put up with kids?”

“He finds their thought processes rather refreshing. He once told me that they were infinitely more interesting than adults because society hasn’t managed to make them all mindless drones yet.”

“So we’re mindless drones, huh? That could possibly be one of the nicest things he’s said about me.”

Mycroft chuckled and continued to watch Sherlock and Claire interact. It pleased him to see that some of Claire’s shyness was fading, and that she was quickly acclimatising to Sherlock’s personality. When he and Greg rejoined the group, Claire looked up and smiled brightly.

Shortly, Ada came into the lounge and announced that dinner would be served momentarily. She glanced sharply at John and Sherlock before giving Mycroft a pointed look.

Mycroft offered her a small nod. “I do seem to recall that the original invitation was for dinner…Will you be joining us Sherlock, John?”

“Well, uh…we wouldn’t want to interrupt,” John stammered, looking to Sherlock for help.

Sherlock merely looked bored and shrugged.

Mycroft fought the urge to roll his eyes at his brother. “Not at all, John. The two of you are more than welcome to join us. I’m sure there will be plenty for everyone. In fact, I insist.”

“Of course you do,” Sherlock groused, rising to his feet and striding out of the room.

Greg sent John a sidelong glance. “Does he realize that his exits are a bit less impressive when he isn’t wearing the bloody coat?”

John snorted and just shook his head.

Mycroft sent Claire to go wash for dinner, and then escorted Greg and John to the dining room. He chuckled lightly when the other two men seemed shocked not to see Sherlock waiting there for them.

“How is it possible that the git can disappear between the living room and the dining room?” John muttered, looking at Greg to see if he had any better answer as to where his flatmate had gotten to.

“Come now John," Mycroft interjected drolly, "we must allow Sherlock his delusions. He assumes that I don’t know that he’s busy snooping through whatever rooms he can gain access to before he thinks we might miss his presence.”

“Is he going to find anything good?” Greg asked, taking a seat on the right side of the table.

“Of course not, Gregory. It would be terribly remiss of me if I allowed anything of importance to be so easily located. Still…he may find one or two tidbits of information that might be lying about.”

John laughed as he rounded the table and took a seat next to Greg. “You’re baiting him?”

Mycroft just smirked as he took his seat at the head of the table, next to Greg, leaving the seats on his left open for Claire and Sherlock.

“You know Sherlock is going to jump at the chance to try and outsmart you with whatever he finds.” John shook his head in mock scolding. “You’re an evil man, Mycroft.”

“No, John, simply an older brother,” Mycroft replied smoothly, managing a look of pure innocence as Claire and Sherlock entered the room together.

As soon as the group was seated, Ada brought in the meal; a traditional roast with potatoes, vegetables, and an abundance of homemade bread. Once everyone’s plates were filled, the wine poured, and the first bites tasted, John spoke up, breaking the silence.

“So, Claire, do you like living here?”

Claire nodded and swallowed her mouthful before answering. “Uh huh, I have my own room and bookshelves and toys and everything. And Ada is really nice and helps me tie ribbons in my hair.”

John grinned at Claire, while Mycroft and Greg shared a small look. Sherlock, thankfully, refrained from saying anything.

Claire continued, looking down at her plate and separating the vegetables out from the rest of her food. “And when I have bad dreams, My comes in and hugs me. He even reads me stories. Sometimes, if I’m really scared, he calls me ‘bee juice.’”

John and Greg looked up at Mycroft in confusion, which only deepened when they saw that he had flushed scarlet and quickly took up his wine glass to prevent himself from having to speak.

Sherlock snorted and shook his head. “Really, Mycroft? French terms of endearment to scare away nightmares?”

“You never seemed to mind your nickname when you were a child, Sherlock,” Mycroft snapped, leveling a look at Sherlock that had sent foreign dignitaries running from his office. Sherlock, on the other hand, just rolled his eyes.

Suddenly Greg laughed, breaking the tension. “Kiddo, I don’t think Mycroft called you ‘bee juice.’ I think he probably called you ‘bijou’. It means jewel or gem. You know, something precious.”

“Oh, that makes more sense,” Claire responded, looking quite pleased with Greg’s translation.

“I didn’t realize you spoke French, Gregory.” Mycroft interjected, trying to turn the subject into one that allowed him to regain his composure.

“Some,” Greg replied, taking a mouthful of wine before continuing. “My grandparents lived with us when I was growing up. They insisted on speaking French around the house. I haven’t spoken it in years, but I remember the basics.”

Mycroft nodded and smiled gratefully.

“Wait a minute,” John interrupted with a glint in his eyes, “what was Sherlock’s nickname then?”

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft sharply, his mouth set in a firm frown. It would be so easy, Mycroft thought, to give John something to torment his brother with. Something that would also serve to remind Sherlock that teasing him was always a poor choice of action. Tempting…

“Ah, John, unfortunately that is something I’m sure my brother would rather not have me divulge. I’m afraid you’ll have to find out from him.”

Sometimes, it was better to resist temptation. Especially when you still possessed information that could prove useful at a more opportune moment.

John sighed, resigned to finding out on his own, knowing that the likelihood was slim at best.

Mycroft was pleasantly surprised at how civil dinner turned out. John and Greg carried much of the conversation, being sure to include Claire as much as possible. Sherlock remained aloof, focusing most of his attention to studying Claire, interjecting both observations and sarcasm to the topics at hand.

It was not long after dinner that John and Sherlock took their leave, both men taking special care to say goodnight to Claire. Sherlock seemed ill at ease, not knowing what social convention dictated when saying goodbye to a young child, particularly when one did not come from a physically demonstrative family. He settled for a somewhat awkward handshake and a small, but genuine smile. Claire just shook his hand with a giggle, and then dashed off to climb into her now semi-permanent fort under the piano.

Mycroft had only just started playing a piece, at Greg’s insistence, when Greg’s mobile rang.

Greg glanced at the phone with a frown, then sighed. “Excuse me,” he said, then left the room to take the call.

When he returned, Mycroft smiled, knowing that the pleasant end to the evening he had been carefully orchestrating had been foiled.

“I assume from your expression, Gregory, that our evening will be coming to a premature end?”

Greg rubbed at the back of his neck, looking rueful. “Unfortunately, yeah. They found a bod…” He glanced at Claire before changing tack. “I, uh, have to go into work. And call Sherlock on my way. This one sounds right up his alley.”

Mycroft smiled sympathetically and rose to his feet. “That is most unfortunate. I was hoping that your schedule would allow you to recover a bit from your last case. It has been a particularly trying month for you.”

Greg shrugged. “Well, that’s how it goes, yeah? So, Claire, do I get a hug before I leave?”

Claire nodded, quickly scrambling out of her fort and coming up to wrap her arms around Greg’s legs. He reached down and ruffled her curls with a smile.

“Claire, my dear, why don’t you go and get changed for bed while I see Gregory to the door?”

“Do I get an extra long story tonight?”

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile. The number of times he had to negotiate a bedtime with Sherlock had left him well prepared for the question. “That is precisely what I was planning. Now off with you, and I’ll be in shortly to read to you.”

Claire cheered and ran out of the room. As soon as they heard her footsteps on the staircase to her room, Mycroft moved forward into Greg’s space, who reached out to take his hand.

“Mycroft, I’m really sorry. I had very different plans for how this evening was going to end.”

“As did I, Gregory.” He stepped forward, pulling Greg into an embrace and pressing a kiss to Greg’s temple before continuing softly, “I was rather looking forward to exploring your newly discovered language skills.”

Greg groaned. “John was right, you are an evil man.” He could feel Mycroft smile against his cheek before he pulled back with a playful frown.

“That seems rather cruel. I was only going to ask if you’d like to join me for an evening. Without Claire.”

Mycroft had barely finished speaking before Greg had agreed. “As soon as I wrap up this new case, I’m going to take you up on that offer, Mycroft. Great motivation, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Mycroft leaned forward and kissed him chastely. They walked downstairs, Mycroft helping Greg with his coat before walking to the door. Once there, he turned and smoothed the lapels of Greg jacket down and kissed him again. “Go. Catch yourself a murderer. Call me when you’re free.”

The kiss that Greg returned was far less chaste. They lingered over the moment for as long as they could, before Greg broke the kiss with a sigh. “Goodnight, My, I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

Mycroft nodded, before pulling the door open. Greg jogged down the stairs with a wave which Mycroft returned with enthusiasm. It wasn’t until after he had closed the door that he realized that Greg had called him My, a nickname whose use was reserved to only three people: Sherlock, Claire, and now Gregory.

* * *

After joining Claire in her room, Mycroft noticed the book lying on her bedside table. He placed his hand on the tattered brick red cover and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the spine, where the gold gilded lettering was barely legible, erased slowly over the years by eager hands. It was a caress, an acknowledgment of just how much this particular book had meant to him, and to his brother in turn.

Mycroft sighed softly and smiled, momentarily lost in nostalgia. Claire looked at him quizzically before piping up, “Sherlock gave that to me. He said it was his favorite book and that I had to take good care of it.”

“And so you must. It is a very important book.”

She wrinkled up her nose and frowned. “It smells funny.”

Mycroft chuckled as he picked up the book gently and sat on the edge of her bed. “That is because this book is very old. It has belonged to many people in its time.”

He opened the cover and pointed to a name written in a precise, ornamental flourish on the yellowed flyleaf. “This was the first person who owned it, Aurélien Cédrique Vernet, my great-great grandfather. He purchased the book when in was first published in 1883. He was a strange man, I am told, choosing to travel quite extensively, and taken entirely with the study of birds.”

“Birds?”

“Birds. Enough to be quite the nuisance at dinner parties, they say. Apparently he spoke of little else.”

Claire smiled and then pointed to the next name. “Who’s this one?”

“That is Aurélien’s oldest son, Yves Célestin Henri Vernet. He was a writer of essays, well-respected and rather somber. Though he did have a pet parrot who apparently cursed with aplomb. I like to think that it was a gift from his father, though there is no proof of that.”

“The bird had a plum?”

Mycroft chuckled. “No, my dear, ‘aplomb’. It means ‘with confidence.’”

“Oh, okay. It would be cooler if the bird had a plum.”

Mycroft laughed again…the logic of a child…

“Who came next?”

“Ah, that would be my grandpere, Leandré Raoul Renaud Vernet. I remember him to have been extremely tall, extremely thin, and extremely dour. He would have looked a bit like Sherlock in his youth, though I’m afraid it was I who was blessed with his rather prominent nose. He was a mathematician, and a lecturer at Oxford, having come to live in England in his youth.” Mycroft shuddered slightly. “I was absolutely terrified of the man.”

“Why?”

“That’s a tale for another time. We’ll never get to the story at this rate.”

As he ran his finger across the next name, he smiled warmly and glanced over to Claire. “And this name, my dear, is the name of my very favourite uncle…Benoit Augustin Reginald Vernet. Like his father, Uncle Reg was very tall and very thin, but unlike his father, he was one of the jolliest men I have ever met. He did everything with enthusiasm, and possessed a rather mischievous sense of humour that drove his father to distraction. I remember him reading this book to me when I was about your age, an act that I repeated under his tutelage when Sherlock was old enough to hear it.”

Claire jabbed her finger at the next name and grinned up at him. “That one is you right?”

“Indeed. Mycroft Edward Henri Holmes. Uncle Reg passed this book to me when I turned ten, as was our family tradition. I, in turn, passed it along to Sherlock when he was eight, shortly after our beloved uncle passed away.”

He sighed as he passed his finger over Sherlock’s name, written in his own fine scrawl. Mycroft vividly remembered the day he wrote Sherlock’s name in the book, and the tears that had welled up in the young boy’s eyes when he realized the magnitude of the gift he was being given.

His breath caught in his chest as he saw the next name, Claire Amelia Willoughby Holmes, written in his brother’s spidery script. Not only had Sherlock passed his most treasured possession along to her, he had also taken the time to find out Claire’s full name. The addition of the surname Holmes made Mycroft swallow thickly before he was able to continue.

“And now, bijou, here is your name. It is officially written in the history of our family. And this book is yours until you have a family of your own.” Mycroft ducked his head and pressed a kiss into Claire’s curls as he tried to regain his composure.

Claire scrambled up to her knees and wrapped her arms around Mycroft’s neck. “Thank you for being my family, My.”

Mycroft inhaled sharply and held Claire tightly to his chest. “You needn’t ever thank me, my darling girl. It is the greatest honor of my life.”

They held each other for a few long moments, before Claire’s natural curiosity broke the spell. She untangled herself from Mycroft’s arms and turned her chin up to look at him.

“Will you read it to me, My? Please? I want to hear the story.”

“Of course I will. It is a tradition, after all.”

He shifted, settling back against the headboard, and wrapped his arm around Claire as she snuggled into his side. He turned the page and smiled as she ran her hand across the map on the frontispiece. He took a deep breath and then began, his warm tenor filling the room.

“Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island…”

* * *

It was nearly forty minutes later that Mycroft closed the book and gently extracted himself from Claire’s arms. She had started to yawn about the time Billy Bones was presented with the black spot, and had succumbed to sleep just as Blind Pew arrived at the Admiral Benbow. Tomorrow night he must see that she was in bed earlier so that they could continue the story. No self-respecting Holmes (or Vernet for that matter) would dare fall asleep during the first pirate battle!

Mycroft walked into the lounge, poured himself a small glass of scotch and settled in his wingback chair in front of the fireplace, the last embers of the fire giving off faint, but pleasing warmth. He took out his mobile and sent a short text to Sherlock.

 _Thank you, lutin_.

Mycroft smiled at the nickname, knowing that his brother would know precisely what he was referring to.

He was lost in his thoughts, remembering Sherlock’s excitement as the tale of Treasure Island unfolded and their days spent playing pirate together, when his mobile chirped, indicating a voicemail had been received. He was certain that he had not missed a call and frowned as he accessed his messages. Pressing play, he smiled wistfully as his brother’s baritone filled the room.

_“You are welcome, brother-mine. Claire is lovely.” There was a brief pause. “I would, however, see to the security of your mobile…it’s deplorable.”_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night without Claire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello out there! It's been a while, but I haven't abandoned this story. Life has just been...well...you know how it goes. It turns out that I'm not a terribly quick writer and the Spring got away from me. I made it extra long to make up for it...an upped the story rating too.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend and beta, lyricalsoul, for encouraging me and not hunting me down when I didn't send her the words that I'd been promising since the end of April! :-)

Greg wiped the steam of the mirror and took stock of his reflection. The nap and the shower had certainly helped …he was finally feeling somewhat human and he didn’t look nearly as tired as he had a few hours ago when he finally got home from work.

The case that had taken him away from Mycroft’s last week was still not completely finished, but the suspect was in custody, and it was now just a matter of wrapping up the details. Thankfully, Sally had shoved him out of the office so that he could go home and rest. No one could really blame him for not protesting too loudly.

On his way to his flat, he finally had a chance to call Mycroft. They had texted a few times in the last few days, but it couldn’t really be considered a conversation. He wasn’t expecting Mycroft to have time to see him for until at least the weekend, but as soon as he mentioned that he was free, Mycroft jumped on the chance and invited him out to dinner. He also casually dropped the fact that he would make sure that both Claire and Sherlock would be “otherwise occupied,” to ensure they would have the evening to themselves. Greg didn’t want to overanalyse the spark of arousal that shot through him at the implication of an uninterrupted evening with Mycroft.

Unfortunately, their phone call had been interrupted by Anthea, so Greg didn’t have a chance to get any details about where they would be going that evening. He was sure that Mycroft wouldn’t pick too fancy a restaurant, but he still didn’t want to look like a slouch when it came to having dinner with a man who oozed sophistication and class out of every pore.

He decided on a pair of slim-fit dark jeans, not so skinny that they made him look like he was trying too hard to hide his age, but just tight enough that they showed off his physique. Which wasn’t too shabby, if he did say so himself. Paring the jeans with a dark green button down, black scarf and a leather jacket, Greg was feeling rather good about himself an hour later when he stole a glance in the mirror on his way to answer the door. Judging by the look on Mycroft’s face, the feeling was mutual.

Mycroft stood before him, impeccable as always, and Greg frankly found it a bit difficult to speak. He was dressed in what, for him, would be considered a casual suit, dove grey with a subtle check pattern. The pale blue shirt and navy tie brought out the colour in his eyes, and made Greg’s fingers itch to run his fingers across his chest. A chest which was much more available considering that Mycroft had chosen not to wear a waistcoat. When their eyes met, Mycroft blushed faintly and cleared his throat.

“Good evening, Gregory.”

“Hi.” Greg grinned, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Mycroft’s cheek, pausing just for a moment to inhale deeply. The man smelled amazing, warm and vaguely woodsy, like vetiver and teak. As he drew away, Mycroft caught him by the arm and pulled him into a proper kiss. It was chaste and short, but Greg was sure that there was a promise of more to come behind it.

He reached out and smoothed down Mycroft’s lapels, not that there was any real need, but it was a convenient excuse to touch him.

“I’ve missed you, you know. It’s been a hell of a week.”

“Oh? Was your case quite difficult?”

“Not terribly, no. I just spent most of it with the wrong Holmes.”

Mycroft smiled shyly and ducked his head.

“I must admit, I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you, and was quite glad when our schedules coincided tonight. Shall we begin our evening?”

“Lead on, my good man,” Greg replied with a wink.

He followed Mycroft out of the flat and out to the black BMW sedan parked at the kerb. He tried not to look too surprised as Mycroft opened his door for him, before going round the back and settling into the driver’s seat. As Mycroft started the car and eased it into gear, Greg looked around and ran his hand along the dashboard.

“Nice car…”

“Thank you. Is there a caveat on the horizon?”

“Well no, not really.” Greg smiled thinly and looked down at his hands.

“But…” Mycroft prodded.

“No, I mean it, it’s nice, it’s just…well, a bit more practical than I’d imagined.”

Mycroft smirked. “You can’t honestly believe that I spend my entire life being chauffeured around, can you?”

“Yeah, actually I can,” Greg laughed, “but I kind of imagined you’d be driving something more Evil Mastermind-ish.” He paused, looking at Mycroft thoughtfully. “Or maybe you’re more of a Bond man…”

“And what makes you think that?” Mycroft asked with a smile.

Greg shrugged. “Copper’s hunch.”

Mycroft glanced over at Greg, eyebrow arched. He allowed the pregnant silence to draw out while he maneuvered through traffic. “I assure you, Gregory, while I do consider myself to be more of a Bond aficionado rather than someone looking to secure an evil empire, I do not own an Aston-Martin."

“Shame.”

“Hmm, indeed. However, more apropos the subject, I do admit that there might be a version more to your liking parked in my garage.”

“Ha, I knew it! The truth comes out…man like you has to have a sexy sports car somewhere!”

Mycroft laughed as he switched lanes. “Alas, I’m caught out.”

“So why is it that you aren’t driving that one tonight? If I had one, I’d be driving it everywhere. ”

Two spots of colour appeared high on Mycroft’s cheekbones as he frowned slightly. “ I was…well…trying to maintain a rather low-key atmosphere this evening. I thought that my picking you up in the other car might be rather overdoing it.”

Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh yeah, the impeccable suit isn’t too much, but the sports car would have thrown it right over the edge. You look fantastic, by the way, no caveat or anything this time.”

“Thank you, Gregory. As do you, of course.”

“Yeah? Well…cheers, then.”

Silence fell between them, neither man wanting to make the next move. It remained firmly, and somewhat awkwardly in place until they arrived at the restaurant.

It was a small, cozy Mediterranean restaurant, with warm lighting, and a very good jazz quartet playing in one corner. They were shown to a corner table, Mycroft slipping into the far seat and keeping his back to the wall. Greg allowed the manoeuvre, even though it was his preferred place to sit, because he knew that years of training would have Mycroft on guard even if it wasn’t a conscious thought. There are some instincts that just don’t go away.

The conversation flowed easily through the appetizers, helped along by a delicious red wine of Mycroft’s choosing. It was not long before their entrees arrived; rosemary and pistachio crusted duck breast for Mycroft and lemon-garlic shrimp papardelle for Greg.

The groan of pleasure that left Greg’s lips after taking his first bite had Mycroft reaching quickly for his water glass and consciously restraining himself from gathering the other man up and whisking him off to his home for an altogether different sort of pleasure.

He was still fighting his baser instincts when Greg piped up.

“So, tell me what it was like growing up with Sherlock. Had to have been quite an adventure.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Our family home still bears scars from various ‘miscalculations’ on his part. That is one thing I can say has never changed about my brother; his scientific method and regard for safety protocols remains deplorable.”

Greg chuckled and sipped his wine as Mycroft continued.

“Sherlock has always been curious, asking questions about anything and everything since he was able to speak. And, as you well know, he does rather have a flare for the dramatic. And an affinity for explosions.”

That made Greg laugh out loud. “Please tell me that he didn’t make portions of your house explode.”

Mycroft smiled fondly. “No, thankfully. He did however use our great-grandmama’s china to conduct an experiment on acid erosion of Victorian porcelain. My mother was less then pleased, especially when he disposed of said acid by dumping it into her rose garden. He was grounded for a large portion of that summer.”

“Because that’s always effective for keeping kids out of trouble.” Greg shook his head. “My parents found out that grounding us usually just resulted in me and my brothers coming up with more ingenious ways of escape. They tended to resort to manual labor as punishment. I swear to god that I will never own a house with a fence that needs to be painted. Ours got four fresh coats one year because I kept sneaking out to see a bloke I had a thing for.”

Mycroft chuckled as he imagined young Gregory’s antics. “Do you have a large family, then?” He knew the answer, of course, but wanted to hear Greg talk about his childhood.

“Pretty huge, yeah. I have three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger sister. I also had two younger cousins who lived with us, along with my grandparents. It was chaotic and loud and fantastic.” He glanced down at his plate and pushed a few noodles around as his fond nostalgia turned into something a bit sadder. “It’s strange, you know, I always thought I’d end up with a big family myself. Guess that wasn’t in the cards.”

“You and your wife never considered children?”

Greg sighed and shrugged. “We considered it, sure, but you know how it is. She never could get beyond the fact that my work schedule was erratic at best, and she always said she didn’t want to be raising a kid alone while I gallivanted off to crime scenes. As if dealing with dead bodies on a daily basis could be considered gallivanting.”

Mycroft could easily read the pain that still lingered from Greg’s divorce, realizing that their conversation had quickly taken a turn into an area that was not at all suitable for a first date.

“I apologise, Gregory. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”

Greg looked up quickly and then waved away the apology. “No, it’s alright, you know? Probably a good thing that we didn’t drag kids through a divorce. And I’m still close with my family and their kids. I make a pretty fun uncle, I’ll have you know.”

Mycroft smiled warmly. “I never doubted it for a moment. You are wonderful with Claire, and I can only imagine that you are just as doting with your own family.”

“What about you, then? Did you always want a family?”

“Not as such, no. I suppose I did entertain the thought of a family for a while in my youth, but once I realized that it was extremely unlikely that I would ever have a biological child of my own, what with being homosexual, I put the whole idea aside and focused on my career and my brother instead. My relationship with Claire comes as quite the surprise.”

“Well I’m glad. You two seem happy together.”

Mycroft’s smile lit up his whole face. “I must agree. It has been a wonderful turn of events.”He glanced down demurely before looking up at Greg from the corner of his eye. “As has getting to know you, Gregory,” he said quietly.

Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “I’m glad too, My.”

The waiter chose that moment to come back to the table, and Greg tried to subtly separate their hands so as not to cause embarrassment. Mycroft, however, kept his grip firm and unrelenting. That was the moment Greg realized just how important this budding relationship had become to both of them.

“So, changing the subject a bit, tell me about your childhood, Mycroft. What were you like?”

Mycroft sighed, “Fairly boring, I’m afraid. Much as I am as an adult.”

“Oh come on, you aren’t boring. A bit reserved, perhaps, but not boring.”

“Reserved is one of the kinder descriptions I’ve been graced with. It will probably come as no surprise that I was a bookish youth, preferring to read over nearly any other activity. I especially loved history, and had a particular fondness for tales of exploration and the like.”

“I can see that. That you would be the type to like a good adventure story. Any adventure you’ve always wanted to have and never gotten around to?”

Mycroft shook his head, but the blush that was barely visible in the restaurant’s dim lighting told another tale entirely.

“Don’t think you can get away from it that easily, Mycroft Holmes. I can tell when you’re hiding something, so spill. What is it?”

Mycroft fidgeted with his napkin. “I always rather wanted a motorbike when I was young. The thought of leaving my studies behind and riding off into the desert for adventure was always rather appealing. It’s ridiculous really, quite Indiana Jones when you think about it.”

Greg grinned at him. “You wanted to be Indiana Jones?”

“Why would I not? Quite the romantic character, dashing, daring, and a well-respected archaeologist to boot.“ Mycroft’s eyes sparkled at the thought, and Greg’s breath caught in his chest. Mycroft was even more handsome like this, talking about something that inspired him. Greg frowned as Mycroft’s expression shuttered. “As I said, quite ridiculous,” Mycroft dismissed with a shrug.

“What’s ridiculous is that you never did it, Mycroft. I’m sure you have the connections to pull something like that off.”

Mycroft busied himself with his glass of water rather than meeting Greg’s eyes.

“You know, I can’t promise you the desert adventure or the archaeology, but I do have a bike if you ever feel up to a ride.”

Mycroft inhaled sharply, choking on his water. After regaining his breath and patting his napkin against his lips, he looked up at Greg incredulously. “You have a motorcycle? There was nothing mentioned in any of my reports.”

When Greg smirked at him he replayed his statement in his head, realizing that he had divulged rather sensitive information.

“So those reports, that you so adamantly denied having when we first met, didn’t mention I had a bike, huh?” Greg teased.

“It seems that the reports, which may or may not actually exist, mind you, may have had a few glaring oversights.”

Greg chuckled, breaking the tension. “Good. I’m glad I can surprise you.”

Mycroft smiled and rested his hand on Greg’s forearm. “Trust me Gregory, you have been surprising me for years, and I sincerely hope that you continue.”

“Glad to hear it. So…does that mean you’d be up for a ride sometime?” Mycroft paused for a moment, conjuring an image of Gregory seated on a sleek, black motorcycle wearing riding leathers. He found himself suddenly feeling quite warm and have to shift subtly in his seat. “Indeed, I would, Gregory,” he replied, pleased that his voice remained even.

Greg smirked and gave Mycroft a pointed look, conveying that he had not been entirely successful in hiding his current state of arousal from him.

“We’ll have to do that then. Soon.”

Mycroft reached out and took a large gulp of water before quickly changing the subject into safer territory for the remainder of the meal.

Before long, the dessert course, consisting of two small glasses of ruby port and two dark chocolate pots de crème were delivered to the table. Greg glanced at his watch surreptitiously and was surprised to see that two hours had already passed. Regardless of what happened for the rest of the evening, this was easily the best date he’d had in years. A comfortable silence fell while they ate dessert and they shared warm glances as they relaxed back into their seats and enjoyed the soft jazz that filled the room.

Mycroft settled the check as the band moved off the stage to take a break.

“Mycroft, I want to let you know that I’ve had a wonderful time tonight.” Greg smiled and reached out to drag his fingertips lightly across Mycroft’s where they were resting on the table. “It’s been perfect and, well, cards on the table and all, I’d really like to do this again.”

Mycroft smiled widely. “I’d like that very much Gregory. I, too, have had a lovely time in your company.” He glanced down and took Greg’s hand in his, keeping his eyes on the table as he continued with the slightest hint of nervousness. “I was, however, rather hoping that our evening would not come to an end quite so soon.”

Greg squeezed his hand and dipped his head to catch Mycroft’s gaze. He grinned when Mycroft looked up to meet his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was hoping you might come back to mine. We could have coffee or…” He trailed off, refusing to give voice to what he actual hoped would be the actual outcome of returning home. He knew that Greg would almost certainly think it too soon to pursue a physically intimate relationship, but it didn’t stop him from hoping nonetheless.

Greg’s smile dimmed, turning into a gaze that could be described only as lustful. “I’d love to go back to yours, My. Though I’ve got to warn you, I’m not even remotely interested in having coffee.”

Mycroft’s lips parted slightly in surprise, before he gathered up their joined hands and kissed the inside of Greg’s wrist lightly. “Well then, we best be on our way,” he paused, raising an eyebrow mischievously, “to explore the possibilities the rest of the evening holds for us.”

Greg grinned and pulled Mycroft to his feet, and pressed a kiss against his jaw. “I certainly hope that you don’t plan on getting much sleep tonight,” he whispered before stepping back and turning toward the door. Mycroft stood there for a moment, stunned at Greg’s forwardness, and thoroughly enjoying the view as the man walked away from him. Shaking himself out of his rather salacious thoughts, he followed purposefully, grateful for the fact that he displayed enough wealth that he knew his car would be waiting for them the moment they stepped outside.

During the ride back to his house, Mycroft kept his hand entwined with Greg’s, even though it made driving somewhat more difficult. When the other man pulled their hands up to rest high on his thigh, he cursed the fact that the London traffic did not seem to possess the same urgency that he was feeling.

By the time they arrived at the house, the tension between them was palpable, but the urgent need seemed to have dissipated into a low smolder, full of promise. Mycroft was hyper aware of Greg’s close proximity, each movement of removing their coats and hanging them in the foyer seeming to cause them to brush together despite the available space. He followed eagerly as Greg took his hand and led him upstairs.

Greg paused at the landing, turning to take Mycroft’s face in his hands. He leaned down slightly to seal their lips together in a heady kiss. They stood like that for a few long moments, relishing the slide of their tongues and the taste of wine on each other’s lips. When Greg broke the kiss, he blushed and pulled Mycroft up the remaining stairs.

“Sorry, just couldn’t wait any longer to kiss you.”

“A fact that I am quite thankful for. The wait was becoming interminable.”

Greg laughed and kissed Mycroft again, this time full of playful affection. Mycroft sighed when they broke apart and cupped his hand against Greg’s cheek. His gaze turned serious for a moment, and Greg felt his heart quicken.

“As much as I am certain that we are both anticipating a similar conclusion to the evening, I must ask you, Gregory, would you prefer to accompany me into the study or to my bedroom?”

Greg kissed Mycroft firmly. “Take me to bed, My.”

Mycroft smiled and took Greg’s hand, leading him up to the third floor and down the long hallway into the master bedroom. Greg walked into the room and stopped dead a few steps from the threshold. Mycroft’s room was spacious, the large four poster bed the obvious focal point. Across the room, soft white curtains billowed slightly in the breeze coming in from the balcony that overlooked the back garden. The taupe walls and plush carpeting gave the whole space a distinctly masculine yet warm atmosphere and Greg fell in love with it instantly.

He shivered when Mycroft stepped up behind him and pressed his body against Greg’s, sliding his hands along Greg’s hips and down his thighs. His warm breath tickled the side of Greg’s neck as he whispered, “I have fantasized about having you here with me, Gregory. Does it meet your approval?”

Greg groaned as Mycroft’s whisper turned into warm, wet kisses along the side of his neck. “God, My, it’s gorgeous. Never thought I’d get the chance to see it.”

Mycroft nipped his earlobe gently. “And why might that be?”

“Never thought a bloke like you would take a second glance at someone like me.”

Mycroft chuckled as he continued to kiss along his neck, tugging his shirt collar out of the way with one hand while the other gripped his hip. “You, my dear, are most definitely worth a second glance. And a third. And a fourth. In fact, I hope it is a very long time indeed before I even consider looking away.”

At that, Mycroft slipped his hand down to cup Greg’s groin gently and press him back against the length of his own body, relishing the sound of Greg’s sharp intake of breath and the way his hips pressed forward seeking friction. He moved around Greg’s body and kissed him as he began unbuttoning Greg’s shirt. Mycroft moaned softly as Greg’s fingers ran through his hair to lightly grip the back of his neck to change the angle of the kiss.

Once Greg’s own shirt slipped to the floor, followed quickly by his vest, he became aware of his urgent need to feel Mycroft’s skin against his own. He stepped back out of a passionate kiss and quickly pushed Mycroft’s jacket off his shoulders before removing his tie, struggling only slightly with untying the perfect half-Windsor knot. Once the tie was taken care of, Greg popped the top few buttons of his shirt open and pressed a kiss into the hollow of Mycroft’s throat. The resulting moan was more than enough encouragement for him to keep going. He moved his mouth and fingers in tandem, kissing each bit of newly exposed skin as he worked down Mycroft’s chest. Once he reached his waistband, Greg slid his hands slowly up Mycroft’s torso, under his vest, mapping the planes of his chest as he pushed the last layer of fabric over Mycroft’s head. Greg pressed his chest against Mycroft’s and wrapped his arms around his back, simply holding him against his body.

They breathed together, wrapped in each other’s arms as they took a moment to enjoy the sensation of skin-to-skin contact. Greg shifted slightly, nudging his thigh against Mycroft’s groin and smiling into against his neck at the answering groan. Mycroft grabbed Greg’s arse and pulled him firmly against him, before biting down gently at the point where Greg’s neck and shoulder met.

“It’s not kind of you to tease me, Gregory.”

Greg chuckled lightly. “I like hearing the sounds you make, though,” he replied rolling his hips against Mycroft’s, smiling at the resulting moan. “Makes me wonder what other sounds I can coax out of you.”

Mycroft bit down again, this time a bit more firmly. “I think we are still wearing far too many clothes for it to meet the specifications of true experimental parameters.”

Greg pulled back and dropped his hands to Mycroft’s belt, tugging it open, and then unzipping his trousers. “I don’t think I’m doing my job properly. You’re much too coherent if you can still come up with sentences like that.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry much longer,” Mycroft gasped when Greg slid his hand into his pants, cradling Mycroft’s firm length in his palm. He bit his lip to stifle another groan as Greg began to stoke him.

Greg didn’t reply, instead focusing on pushing down the remainder of Mycroft’s clothes while not relinquishing his grip on his cock. Once he succeeded in getting Mycroft undressed, he pulled away to work on his own trousers. He managed to get his belt open before Mycroft stopped him.

“Wait, please,” he murmured, catching Greg’s hands. “I’d like to undress you, if you’ll allow me.”

Greg squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before meeting Mycroft’s heated gaze. “Yeah. God yeah, I’d like that.”

Mycroft smiled and took Greg’s hips in his hands, gently steering him backward toward the bed. Once there, he paused, completely comfortable in his own nudity, stepping around Greg to pull down the duvet and turn down the sheets. He stood and slid his long fingers up Greg’s chest and along his jaw before pulling Greg into a deep kiss.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this, Gregory. Having you here, trusting you to see me like this, allowing me to touch you. I’m still waiting for the moment that I wake up and realize it has all been a very pleasant dream.”

Greg lay down on the bed and pulled Mycroft down on top of him. “This isn’t a dream, My.” He arched his back and pressed himself into Mycroft’s body. “Feel that? That’s me, firm and solid beneath you. It’s not a dream. I’m here and I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

It did not take Mycroft long to divest Greg of his jeans and pants; however he did take his time kissing up the length of Greg’s thigh on his journey back towards the head of the bed. He paused for a long moment at the juncture of thigh and hip, licking the salt from Greg’s skin, and dragging his teeth lightly against the crest of his hip. The whimper that Greg let out when he turned his attention to licking a firm stripe up the length of his cock was all the reminder that Mycroft needed that this was really happening.

Greg leaned down to reach for Mycroft, pulling him up. It had been so long since he had felt the firmness of a man’s body against his own. He had missed this. The strength and weight of a man pressing him down into the mattress, the dark scent of cologne rather than perfume, the slide of a prick against his own. The way that Mycroft kept murmuring his name over and over again as he kissed his throat and torso just made it even better.

At some point, while Greg was musing about his luck over being in bed with such an amazing man, Mycroft had managed to slick his palm up with lube and wrap his large hand around them both. Greg snapped back into the moment with a gasp and moaned as they rocked together slowly. He tipped his head back into the pillows, exposing his throat to Mycroft’s mouth and reached down to wrap his hand around Mycroft’s.

Mycroft buried his face in the side of Greg’s neck and panted against his skin as he thrust into the tight ring of their fingers. The sensation of their bodies moving together bordered on overwhelming, and he bit down hard on his lip to try to distract himself from his impending orgasm.

Greg began thrusting faster and gasped out “So close…” before unleashing a deep, rumbling groan. His groan built in volume as his hips stuttered and his body tensed as he came, covering their hands in his release. Mycroft thrust three more times, his rhythm broken and erratic, before following Greg over the edge into orgasm.

They lay together, a sweaty tangle of limbs, as they struggled to get their breath back. Mycroft sighed as he became dimly aware that Greg was stroking his clean hand up and down his back. It was extremely comforting and provided Mycroft with something tangible to focus on while his mind whirled in a haze of endorphins and emotions.

He rolled onto his back, and took a deep breath before turning to face Greg, who was laying there with his eyes closed and a rather prominent love bite across his collarbone. Mycroft didn’t even remember doing that. He reached out and ran his fingertips against the bruise.

“Gregory, I apologise. I didn’t mean to cause you any harm. I fear I quite forgot myself.”

Greg turned to Mycroft and gave him a crooked smile. “You’re supposed to forget yourself, My. That’s the whole point.” He leaned over and kissed him softly. “Well, that, and the spectacular orgasm,” he chuckled.

Mycroft smiled broadly. “Spectacular doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

He kissed Greg’s forehead and rolled out of bed, heading to the en suite to clean himself up and get a flannel for Greg. When he returned to bed, Greg was already dozing. He stirred and smiled up at Mycroft as he wiped his hands, chest and groin. Mycroft returned to the bathroom to place the flannel in the hamper, and then turned off the rest of lights in the room. He settled back into bed, pulling the sheet up to cover them and curled on his side around his lover. Greg tightened his arms around Mycroft and nuzzled into his neck, kissing the warm skin of his throat. Mycroft sighed contentedly and tipped Greg’s chin up to kiss him softly. After several minutes of languid kisses and quiet conversation, Mycroft laid his head on Greg’s shoulder and draped one arm and leg across his body. He pressed a gentle kiss into Greg’s cheek before they drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Greg slowly became aware of the fact that he was warm. And that his arm was flung possessively across someone’s chest. And that someone was not only still asleep, but also snoring lightly. He smiled into the pillow. So that’s what it was like waking up next to Mycroft Holmes… A man could get used to that.

Especially if that man was flexible, and not terribly particular to having a ‘side’ of the bed. It seemed that Mycroft, for as tightly controlled as he was when awake, tended to sprawl quite impressively while he slept. Greg yawned widely, and rolled over to take in the status of their sleeping arrangements. It seemed, over the course of the night, Mycroft had rolled onto his back and stretched his long, pale limbs out at odd angles, taking up the majority of the bed, leaving Greg to fit himself into the remaining gaps.

He had also managed to kick the duvet and sheets nearly off the end of the bed. Greg sighed when he saw that somehow, Mycroft had managed to maintain his modesty, the top corner of the sheet strategically resting over his groin, yet exposing the sharp ridge of his hip and his strong chest dusted in auburn hair.

Greg couldn’t help himself, and reached out to run his fingers lightly along the crest of Mycroft’s hip. He chuckled when Mycroft scrunched his face up and reached down to swat at his hand.

When the troublesome touching became a caress, Mycroft blinked his eyes open and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “What time is it?”

“It’s early. About half six,” Greg whispered, not wanting to break the cozy silence of the room. He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, groaning when his back cracked.

Mycroft yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing up? Come back to bed.”

Greg grinned as he worked to disentangle his hands from where Mycroft was trying to tug him back across his body. When he worked himself free, he chuckled at Mycroft’s petulant frown.

“Oh, stop,” he chuckled, “I’ll be back. I just thought we could use a cup of coffee before going out and facing the day.”

Mycroft sighed happily. “You sainted man…” he mumbled rolling over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillows, wriggling about trying to find a comfortable position.

“You’re bloody well right I am. You best remember that.” Greg smacked Mycroft’s bum playfully as he stood up, extracting a grunt and another flailing attempt at a swat from his lover. He grabbed Mycroft’s dressing gown from where it had landed on the floor and wrapped it around himself as he left the room.

Greg padded quietly through the house, careful not to disturb the early morning silence. A silence that was broken quite noticeably when he let out a rather unmanly yelp after turning the corner into the kitchen to find Ada standing, fully dressed and ready for the day, in front of the coffee maker.

As Greg stood in the doorway panting with his hand clutched over his heart, Ada calmly looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, Greg.”

“Christ…I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up. I just …um…good morning, I guess.”

“Did you have a pleasant evening?”

Greg flushed, glancing down to take stock of his appearance. “Um…I…we… I mean, Mycroft and I were…well. I don’t suppose I could get you to believe that we were up late working on a classified case, huh?”

“While blushing like a schoolboy and wearing Mr. Holmes’ dressing gown?” Ada smirked. “Unlikely.”

Greg rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, didn’t think so. I’ll just go and get my things together and get out of here before everyone else wakes up.”

Ada glanced up sharply and frowned. “You'll do no such thing! Skulking away like a naughty teenager…I had you pegged as a better man than that. It doesn’t take a genius, or a detective, for that matter, to see how few people make up Mr. Holmes’ inner circle and I’ll not have you damaging his trust because you are embarrassed.” She cursed under her breath and shook her head at him. “For god sake, it’s not as though you have anything to be embarrassed about. Perfectly normal behaviour for two healthy young men…”

Greg cleared his throat awkwardly, stopping that particular thread of conversation in its tracks. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re right, yeah?” I’ll just…um…go back and see if Mycroft is awake yet.” He blushed furiously and dashed out of the kitchen, Ada’s chuckle following him out of the room.

Once in the relative safety of Mycroft’s room, Greg slammed the door and slumped against it with a groan, burying his head in his hands. Mycroft sat up abruptly, alert and focused.

“Gregory?”

“Oh god, My, I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft blanched and took a deep breath. He had not counted on the fact that Gregory might feel that spending the night together was a mistake. Still, one must be stoic about these things… He pulled himself to rest rigidly against the headboard, tucking the duvet up around his waist.

“I apologise if you feel that we overstepped the bounds of our…friendship…last night. I certainly do not want to put you in a difficult situation, so I will not mention the evening again. I trust you’ll still allow my brother to continue his consulting work?”

Greg’s head shot up, and he looked over at Mycroft with a frown. “Wait, what? What are you on about?” Realization dawned and Greg felt his stomach drop. “Oh god, you think this was a mistake, don’t you?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, tipping his chin a bit in contemplation. When he spoke, it was quiet and tightly controlled. “I do not. However, given that you apologized as soon as you saw that I had awoken, and appear thoroughly embarrassed; it is quite obvious that you do.”

“Oh god,” Greg rolled his eyes and started for the bed, “do your deductive powers not work in the morning or something? Did you forget that I was going to make you coffee and come back to bed?” Greg froze in mid-step. “OH SHIT! I forgot the coffee!” He groaned again and smacked his head with his palm.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So you don’t regret spending the night with me, then?”

“Of course I don’t, you git!”

“And the reason for your apology would be...?”

“I just ran into your housekeeper and, well…”

“In my dressing gown?” Mycroft interrupted, flushing scarlet. “Oh, Gregory, you didn’t…”

“Yeah. I did.” Greg settled on the bed, and put his head on Mycroft’s chest. “Quite the chatty old bird for it being so early.”He chuckled at Mycroft’s groan. “I said I was sorry. And trust me, it was worse for me than it is for you.”

Mycroft was quiet for a long moment, his hands caressing Greg’s arms through the silk fabric of the dressing gown. “And to think, after all that, you still managed to forget my coffee.”

Greg sat back and punched Mycroft lightly in the arm as Mycroft smirked. “Oi, you wouldn’t have done any better standing there wearing nothing but a dressing gown while getting lectured about what healthy young men get themselves up to.”

Mycroft laughed and pulled Greg into a hug, pressing a kiss into the side of his neck. “I’m sure you are quite right, my dear. Now…how might I go about alleviating your embarrassment?”

Greg tipped his head a bit further, allowing Mycroft the room to continue lavishing his neck with kisses.“Smart man like you? I’m sure you could come up with something.”

Mycroft scraped his teeth gently along Greg’s collarbone. “I can indeed,” he growled, tugging the dressing gown open and running a broad palm up Greg’s chest. His other hand wrapped around Greg’s waist and pulled the man flush against his body.

Greg wriggled in his grasp, shrugging out of the dressing gown before surging forward again to capture Mycroft’s lips in a searing kiss. His weight bore Mycroft down to the mattress and Greg grinned at the moan Mycroft gave as their bodies came together.

Mycroft’s next sound turned from one of pleasure to one of frustration at the sharp knock on the door. Greg lifted his head from where he had been mapping a trail of kisses down Mycroft’s chest.

“There is no way in hell that I’m answering that.”

Mycroft arched his back, pressing his groin into Greg’s stomach, “And do you really suppose that I’m in a position where I relish the idea of walking across the room?”

Greg rolled off of Mycroft, gesturing half-heartedly at his own burgeoning erection. “Like it would be any easier for me? Besides, I’ve met my quota for mortification this morning. And it’s your house.”

Mycroft glared at Greg as he stood up and retrieved his dressing gown from where it had been bunched up in the sheets. As he wrapped it around himself and made for the door, Greg quickly scrambled to straighten the bed and pull the sheet up to cover his body nearly to his chin.

When Mycroft cracked the door open, he was met by his well-mannered nanny-cum-housekeeper who was holding a serving tray, and appraising him with a far too knowing look in her eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brunner. Is there something I can do for you?”

Years of training and experience were the only things that were preventing Mycroft from blushing like a teenager and stuttering out excuses as to his current state of undress. He doubted that he would be this embarrassed if his own mother were standing at his door. Somehow, this was worse.

“Good day to you, Mr. Holmes. The Detective Inspector forgot his coffee in the kitchen when we spoke earlier this morning. I thought it would be prudent to bring up a tray before you…” she paused, glancing quickly over Mycroft’s shoulder to where Greg was attempting to achieve invisibility by remaining perfectly still, “decided to return to bed.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and allowed his lips to quirk into a small smile. “Very diplomatically put, Mrs. Brunner.”

“I do try.” She handed him the tray and then crossed her arms across her chest. “In any case, you have approximately forty-five minutes before Claire wakes up for the day, at which point she will be anxious to see you.”

“Thank you for the coffee, and the schedule update,” Mycroft teased lightly.

“I thought you might appreciate the warning, so that you might formulate a better response to account for the Detective Inspector’s presence at breakfast than he was able to come up with.”

Mycroft chuckled at Greg’s indignant huff, his goal of invisibility cast aside to defend his honor.

Greg leaned forward so that he could frown directly at Ada. “What happened to being my ally? I thought you were on my side! Anyway, I’d only just woke up and you scared the hell out of me.”

Ada laughed. “A classified case, Greg? That was honestly the best you could do?”

Mycroft turned toward Greg and let out a rather unmanly giggle. “A case, Gregory? Oh, dear.”

Greg flopped back against the pillows. “Oh, shut up, both of you!”

“Well, we will certainly have to come up with something better,” Mycroft teased. “Even Claire would be able to see through that.”

Ada shook her head at their antics and reached out to pull the door shut. “Have a pleasant morning, Mr. Holmes.”

“You as well, Mrs. Brunner.”

Just before the door shut, Mycroft called out. “Oh, and Mrs. Brunner?”

Ada poked her head back around the door and raised her eyebrows.

“I think we’ve likely reached the juncture at which you may start calling me Mycroft.”

Ada smiled. “Best you call me Ada, then, Mycroft,” she said with a wink before ducking around the door and pulling it shut behind her.

Mycroft shook his head as he carried the tray over to the bed, handing it off to Greg before climbing under the duvet. He sighed and closed his eyes as he sunk back against headboard.

“Guess she’s a firm believer in equal-opportunity embarrassment…”

“You’re not helping, Gregory.”

“At least it was Ada. It could’ve been Claire…”

“Still not helping.”

“Any chance I could convince you to go downstairs and get me some jam for the toast?”

“Not on your life.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, filled with surprises and a lot of opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my friend lyricalsoul, who keeps me sane, keeps me writing, and fixes my errors! Hugs to you!
> 
> I'd also like to thank all of you who have stuck with this story! Your comments and kudos make me so happy and keep me inspired! You all get hugs too!

Greg lagged as he finished dressing. He and Mycroft had shared a particularly enthusiastic shower, full of deep kisses and roaming hands, and it had done a great deal to distract him from worrying over what Claire would say about him being at breakfast. As soon as Mycroft left the bathroom, Greg felt the nervousness begin to claw up his chest. He stood staring into the mirror and gave the collar of his shirt one final tug as Mycroft popped his head into the room, painfully aware of the fact that it was the same thing he had worn last night.

“Gregory?” He met Greg’s eyes in the mirror and smiled gently. “Are you almost ready?”

Greg turned around with a sigh and nodded.

Mycroft came forward and put his hands on Greg’s shoulders. “You know you have nothing to worry about. Claire will be thrilled to see you. She always is.”

Greg snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because it’s perfectly normal when I show up for breakfast.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Of course she will think it unusual, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be pleased to see you. I’m perfectly prepared to deal with any questions she might have. You needn’t worry.”

“I’m not, it’s just…” he sighed and pressed his forehead into Mycroft’s shoulder. “Okay, yeah, bit worried.”

Mycroft chuckled and kissed his head. “Surely this is nothing compared to your next meeting with Sherlock?”

Greg groaned and thunked his head down again. “You and your family are going to send me to an early grave, you know that?”

“I certainly hope not. I rather intend to keep you around for a very long time.”

“Then you should probably make sure that I don’t die of a heart attack, what with all the stress you people put me through.”

“I will certainly make you an appointment with my physician if you’d like. After all, it would be in my best interest to ensure you are cleared for strenuous activity, particularly after the events of last night.”

Greg chuckled and kissed Mycroft hard. “You are an evil man, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Certainly not what you told me last night, Gregory. Or this morning for that matter. Now shall we go down to breakfast?”

“Guess so. Might as well face the pint-sized firing squad.”

Mycroft laughed and kissed him again before leading the way downstairs.

By the time Claire wandered sleepily into the kitchen, Mycroft and Greg were seated at the small dining table, each nursing a cup of coffee. She shuffled over to Mycroft and climbed into his lap, offering a mumbled and somewhat grumpy “Good morning.” When Greg chuckled into his coffee mug, Claire spun around looking surprised.

“Greg! What are you doing here?” She slid off Mycroft’s lap and bounded over to his chair, suddenly much more awake. He scooped her up into his arms and gave her hug.

“Morning kiddo, sleep well?”

She nodded. “Why are you here?”

Greg sighed and looked over to Mycroft; it was obvious that she wasn’t going to be distracted from her explanation.

“Gregory was my guest last night, Claire. It was only right that I invite him to stay for breakfast.” Mycroft calmly took a sip of his coffee, feigning nonchalance.

“So you had a sleepover?”

Mycroft sputtered and coughed and Ada hid a poorly concealed chuckle behind her hand.

Greg smoothed his hand over Claire’s curls and nodded. “Yup. We had a sleepover. Is that okay with you?”

“Uh huh…” She paused for a few moments, looking between Mycroft and Greg. “Is Mycroft your best friend? Is that why you had a sleepover?”

“Yeah, Mycroft’s my best friend. I was excited when he asked me to stay last night.” Greg looked over and winked at Mycroft. The resulting blush was well worth the awkwardness of taking the lead with Claire.

Claire stuck out her bottom lip and looked up at Mycroft. “You should’ve told me. I want to have a sleepover with Greg too!”

Mycroft laughed, “The next time Greg stays over, I’ll make sure to tell you.”

“Good. Because it’s not nice to keep secrets.”

“Indeed not, my dear.”

Claire nodded and climbed off Greg’s lap and sat in her chair next to Mycroft. Mycroft and Greg shared a relieved look as Claire began eating her cereal. While Greg asked Claire about her upcoming school day, Mycroft joked lightly with Ada about how her coffee tasted much better when he was fully awake to appreciate it.

It wasn’t long before Greg had to leave in order to get to his flat to change in time to make it to work. He gave Claire a quick hug and promised her that he would see her again soon. Mycroft accompanied him to the door with a smile, glad for a few final moments alone together. Once they reached the foyer, Mycroft cupped his hand against Greg’s cheek and kissed him softly.

“I’m very glad you stayed last night, Gregory.”

“Yeah, so am I. It was a good night, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed it was. Followed by a lovely morning. You know, I do believe that mornings could become infinitely more tolerable if I continued to wake up with such a wonderful companion.”

Greg eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle. “Helps that your ‘companion’ finds you dead sexy, and is all for a bit of a morning romp, doesn’t it?” He reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of Mycroft’s neck and pulled him in for a much more heated kiss than the one he had received.

The kiss was quickly dissolving into a full on snog when Mycroft pulled back, breathing heavily.

“It is certainly a point in your favour.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I’m not going to find ways to add to that tally.”

Mycroft smirked. “You have always been ambitious, Gregory. One of your finest qualities, in fact.”

“Once I find something worth working for, I give it my all,” Greg chuckled. “Now, if only I can avoid Sherlock for a bit so he doesn’t deduce every last detail of our evening…”

“One can always hope, Gregory. One can always hope…” I’ll see you again soon, yeah? And maybe call you tonight?”

“I will look forward to it.”

They shared one last kiss before Greg left, bounding down the stairs with a considerable spring in his step. He didn’t even care that he was falling into every cliché in the book. He was happy and he didn’t care who knew it. 

* * *

Greg was just leaving his flat when a nondescript black sedan pulled up to the kerb. He grinned and opened the door, expecting Mycroft to be waiting inside. Instead, he was met by Anthea, who was watching him coolly over the edge of her phone.

“Please get into the car, Detective Inspector. There is something of utmost importance that I need to discuss with you.”

Greg didn’t hesitate and climbed in to the car. “Is there something wrong? Everybody okay?”

“That is what I’m hoping gather from you.” Anthea tapped on the glass separating them from the driver and the car pulled slowly into traffic.

“Afraid I’m not following. Bit too early for my cloak and dagger translation skills to be up and running. You want to just tell me what’s going on?” Greg was trying hard to stifle the wave of protective anger that was bubbling in his chest, as he really did like Anthea. There was just something about her demeanor today that rankled. “

There is no need to be hostile, Inspector. I am simply here to caution you against acting rashly in regards to Mr. Holmes.”

“Last time I checked, you and I were on the same team. We’re both trying to keep an eye on the Holmes boys and make sure they don’t do anything stupid, remember? Did that game plan change?”

“Of course it did. Last night, in fact.”

“You keep tabs on Mycroft’s love life? Seriously? That’s just creepy.”

Anthea lifted her chin and fixed Greg with a sharp look. “It is my job to be aware of any situation which may distract Mr. Holmes from performing his duties.”

“Is that what I am now? A Distraction?”

“Perhaps. I am hoping that your relationship might prove to be an asset rather than a hindrance.”

“You know I’m not going to do anything to endanger Mycroft. I don’t care what you offer me.”

Anthea rolled her eyes. “Relax, Inspector, I’m hardly a double agent. You really should cut back on your intake of Bond films. It’s making you paranoid.”

“Right, that’s what’s causing the paranoia. Not dating the man responsible for the British Government or being kidnapped every other day.” Greg rubbed his eyes. “So what did you mean then, about me being an asset?”

“It’s important for Mr. Holmes to be reminded of the fact that a life exists outside of his office. Claire has done a great deal to further that goal. I’m hoping that you’ll do the same.”

“So you’re not upset about me and Mycroft?”

“Not at all. I just want to be sure that you are aware of what you are getting involved in.”

“And what’s that?”

“Mr. Holmes is…” Anthea sighed and looked out the window. After a few moments she turned back to Greg and began again. “I started working for Mr. Holmes just after he returned from an extended leave of absence. He never confided to me the details, but it is my understanding that he suffered a great personal loss and his supervisors compelled him to take leave in order to recover.”

Greg’s thought immediately turned to what Mycroft had told him about his relationship with Richard. He glanced at Anthea and nodded.

“Since that point, Mr. Holmes has never shown any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship. At least, not until he met you.”

“And you’re worried I’ll hurt him.”

Anthea shrugged one shoulder. “I’m concerned that you and Mr. Holmes may be expecting different things.”

“You think that this was what, just a quick shag? That I’m going to be an arse and walk away now that I got off? Christ, that’s just insulting, you know that?”

“Greg, please…” Anthea reached out and put her hand on his forearm and Greg fought the urge to shrug it off. She took a deep breath. “I feel very protective of Mycroft. I always have. And it is a sentiment felt by everyone who works closely with him. I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Greg took a deep breath and put his hand over Anthea’s. “Look, I’m glad that Mycroft has people like you to watch his back. He needs that, even if he won’t admit it. And I know that he’s taking a risk, both with Claire and with me. I don’t intend to make him regret that.”

“Promise me that you’ll look after him, Greg.”

Greg smiled. “You have my word.”

She smiled and the car rolled to a stop in front of New Scotland Yard. She seemed to have the same uncanny skill that Mycroft did when it came to perfectly timing a conversation. “Thank you, Detective Inspector, do have a pleasant day.” She pulled her phone up from her lap and focused her attention back to the tiny screen.

“You too, Anthea. And don’t go kidnapping anyone else today. You wouldn’t want it to become monotonous or anything.” Greg flashed her a grin and chuckled when he saw her lips twitch as she fought back a smile of her own.

* * *

It turned out that Greg’s luck in avoiding additional questions only held out for a few more hours before he had to deal with Sherlock. Knowing that he had to call the detective to meet him at a crime scene, he made a point to duck into the men’s restroom to check his appearance. As far as he could tell, there was nothing that indicated that he had spent the night with Mycroft. No visible love bites, no tell-tale stubble burn…he looked, well, normal.

Sherlock walked onto the crime scene, coat billowing, John following a few paces behind. He completely ignored everyone around him, making straight for the body that was lying on the ground near Greg’s feet, already rattling off a slew of observations.

Greg was sincerely hoping that Sherlock’s attention would be so focused on the body that he would ignore him entirely.

Unfortunately, as soon as Sherlock trailed off to take a breath and look up at Greg, his eyes narrowed, and Greg new he was caught.

John glanced between Sherlock and Greg, looking confused. “Something wrong, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s smirk turned into a grin. That made Greg shift his weight uneasily and struggled to maintain eye contact. “No John, there’s nothing wrong. It seems that Lestrade here is hoping I don’t notice his…change in circumstance.”

John frowned. “His what?”

Greg ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Sherlock, listen, I know you know, okay. But can we please not do this here? It’s a crime scene, for God’s sake.”

“Do what, exactly? You two mind filling me in on the big secret?” John looked between Greg and Sherlock again, trying to read the subtext of the conversation.

“There’s no secret, John. Let’s just focus on the body, okay?” Greg looked around and noticed that apparently the tension was palpable enough to bring the whole damn scene to a stop, with most of his team watching the exchange.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and shook his head slowly, as though he as was admonishing a child.

“Lestrade, if you are going to insist on sleeping with my brother, you would do well to remember that he has allowed himself to become rather uncharacteristically vulnerable of late. It would be in your best interest to ensure his continued happiness. An overprotective nature is a Holmes trait, and I would hate to be the one to remind you of that.”

The silence that followed Sherlock’s statement was absolute. Or maybe it just felt that way to Greg. He couldn’t really hear anything other than his heart pounding in his chest.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his relationship with Mycroft; it was just that he had hoped that he could keep it well away from his work. At least for a while. It was hard enough starting a new relationship without having to deal with the ribbing he was going to get from his team now that they all knew that he was bisexual. They weren’t going to do anything offensive, but they were a tight enough group that he expected at least some off-colour remarks at his expense.

He took a deep breath and shrugged, trying to give off an air of nonchalance.

“You know what, Sherlock? I’m in such a good mood that I’ll overlook the fact that you just outed me to my entire team, and gave me the ‘you hurt him, I’ll hurt you speech’ while standing over a dead body. My god, you Holmes men have a flair for the dramatic.”

He looked up and cleared his throat, addressing the rest of the team. “Okay, that’s enough then, back to work everybody. Show’s over.”

As the crime scene sprung back to life around them and Sherlock crouched down to examine the body, John pulled Greg aside.

“Seriously, mate? You and Mycroft?” he asked quietly.

Greg smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“Well…” John paused, searching for the right words, “I can admit I never saw that one coming. After we get this case wrapped up, I think you and I need to have a pub night. There are obviously some things you haven’t been telling me.”

Greg chuckled. “Guess so. It’s early days though, so it’s not like I’ve been keeping secrets.”

“Nah…of course not, just the fact that you’re shagging the man in charge of the British Government.”

Greg groaned. “John…”

“Oh come now, John,” Sherlock interrupted, “it’s obvious that he and Lestrade have just begun ‘shagging’ as you so charmingly put it. It’s not as though he’s intentionally kept you out of the loop as it were.”

Greg glared at him, though even he would admit it was a half-hearted attempt. “Sherlock, you’ve done enough, ta very much. Think you could shut it about my love life and get back to catching me a murderer?”

John chuckled and clapped Greg on the shoulder before walking over and crouching near Sherlock, who was glaring at Greg as though he had morally offended him.

“Lestrade, there is only one way I will ever consider working with you again.”

“Oh? And how’s that, then?”

“If you never, ever give me reason to consider my brother and the words ‘love life’ in the same context again.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Of course not, sunshine. Get back to work, yeah?”

* * *

 

Mycroft looked up from his book and glanced around the room with smile. The cooler evenings of autumn had given him an excellent excuse to use the fireplace, in front of which Claire was happily laying on her stomach drawing pictures. Greg had settled into the nearby armchair after dinner and promptly fallen asleep.

Mycroft found that he didn’t mind at all, in fact, it was quite endearing. He and Greg had been unable to spend much time together since the night of the ‘sleepover’. Mycroft found himself working unpredictable hours negotiating a trade agreement which spanned nations in several time zones, and it was hardly conducive to dating, regardless of how much he wanted a repeat of that wonderful night.

Greg, in turn, had been working with a limited staff for the last few days, and dealing with Sherlock to boot, causing him to put in even longer days than usual. He had finally closed his case earlier today and had called Mycroft when he was leaving the office, exhausted but happy to have a moment to talk. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated to accept when Mycroft invited him for dinner, despite his obvious need for sleep, had made both Mycroft and Claire extremely happy.

It had come as a bit of a surprise just how much he had settled in to his new life. Claire remained a constant high point in his days, and while there were things that still left him at a bit of a loss (for example Claire’s rather single minded obsession with football) he found that assuming the responsibilities of fatherhood sat fairly comfortably upon his shoulders. And then there was Gregory. While both men were slow to put a label on precisely what it was they shared, he had found a companion who not only understood him, but also made him laugh. Much to his surprise, laughter was no longer a scarce commodity in his home, and he found that he loved the change.

Mycroft had just turned his attention back to his book when he heard the doorbell ring. He stood to answer the door, as Ada was out for the evening visiting her sister, and motioned for Claire to stay where she was. They shared a smile as Greg snuffled a bit but remained asleep.

The smile remained on Mycroft’s lips until he opened the door and was met with a gust of cold air and his mother, who looked absolutely murderous. His father stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, and looking for all the world that he would burst out laughing at any moment.

Mycroft blinked rapidly, the shock of his parents turning up unannounced on his doorstep overriding his manners.

“You are in enough trouble as it is, my son, I would suggest that you not make it worse by leaving us standing out in this blasted wind.”

His mother’s accompanying glare was all it took to shake Mycroft out of his stupor, and he coughed lightly before holding the door open and ushering them inside.

“Mummy, Father, what a completely unexpected surprise…”

His mother snorted in contempt as she shrugged out of her coat and held it out to Mycroft to hang. It was everything Mycroft could do to stifle a sigh. So much for his idyllic evening. He hung his father’s coat as well and then turned to face his parents.

“I must say, you are looking well, Mummy. The new hairstyle is quite flattering. And Father, the new coat is rather dashing.” Mycroft turned to lead his guests out of the foyer when he was stopped in his tracks by his mother’s seething hiss.

“Mycroft Edward Henri Holmes, how _dare_ you?”

He paused and considered his options. He could either face the conflict head on, or make a run for it. But dinner had been filling, and he had avoided fieldwork for far too many years to be in optimal shape. Staring down the lion in its den it was then. He turned and faced his mother, her anger making her a formidable foe, despite her short stature.

“How dare I what, exactly?”

“It’s not enough that you haven’t bothered to ring us in nearly a month, but to find out from Sherlock, of all people, that you adopted a child two months ago and did not tell us! Shame on you, Mikey! I know we raised you better than that!”

Mycroft took a deep breath. This was hardly the scenario he had envisioned for telling his parents about Claire. Sherlock would certainly think better of betraying him in the future...the damnable child.

“Mummy, far be it from me to dissuade you from your self-righteous anger, but I do fear that you are labouring under a few misconceptions.”

“And what might those be?”

Mycroft started to reply, but his father interrupted. “Son, I realize that our visit has surprised you, but I would caution you not to be too flippant in your response. Best not poke the bear, one might say.”

When the swat his mother delivered to his father’s shoulder connected, Mycroft sighed. His father might not be a genius, but he did have a surprisingly good handle on personal interactions.

“Indeed, Father. Why don’t we move into the kitchen, and I’ll put the kettle on? Then I can explain myself more fully.”

“And you will bring your daughter in to meet us. Immediately.”

“Yes, Mummy.” 

* * *

Mycroft stalled for as long as possible before returning to the library to collect Claire. He dithered over the kettle, shuffled through several tins of tea before making a selection, and waited beside the counter while the tea finished brewing. His mother sat at the kitchen table shifting her glare between her son and husband, the latter of which was chuckling every time he made eye contact.

When the tea was brewed and served, Mycroft paused at the door to the kitchen, looking around for anything to forestall the inevitable.

“Mycroft, do not make me tell you again. You have kept my granddaughter from me long enough, young man.”

Duly chastised, Mycroft went to the library and crouched down where Claire was still drawing. “Claire, it seems that my parents have dropped in for a visit and would like to meet you. Would that be agreeable to you?”

Claire looked up at him and grinned, scrambling to her feet. “Really? They want to meet me?”

“They do, indeed.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed hard. “I really get to meet your mum and dad?”

“Of course. My mother, in particular, was quite insistent.”

“What about Greg?”

“Let’s let him rest, shall we? There is only so much familial nosiness that I can handle at one time.”

Claire giggled and tugged on Mycroft’s hand until he was standing. Casting one last longing glance at his book and his sleeping lover, Mycroft led Claire out of the room.

The squeal of delight his mother let out when they returned to the kitchen made Mycroft roll his eyes.

“Oh Mikey, she’s utterly adorable! You must be so proud.”

“It’s Mycroft, mother, as it has been for the last forty-two years. And, I think you’ll find that I had very little to do with Claire’s genetic outcome.”

He sighed as he felt his father’s hand come down on his shoulder. “Again, you are still in quite a lot of trouble son. Watch yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

He cleared his throat.

“May I present, Miss Claire Amelia Willoughby. Claire, darling, these are my parents, Sabine and Rafe.”

Claire peeked her head out from where she had been hiding behind Mycroft’s long legs. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Sabine bent down a bit to meet Claire’s eyes and held out her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Claire. We can’t wait to learn all about you!”

Claire smiled shyly and shook her hand, much to Sabine’s delight.

When Mycroft sat at the table, Claire climbed into his lap and pressed her face to his chest. He patted her head and took a sip of his tea.

“I fully intended to inform you of Claire’s presence. I was waiting until she and I settled more fully into our new roles before inflicting, ahem…excuse me, introducing her to the family.”

His mother raised her eyebrow. “And yet your brother has met her.”

“Yes, Mummy, he has. And that meeting was precisely why I decided to wait before introducing her to any more individuals bearing the Holmes surname.”

“And just how much longer was I supposed to wait? Imagine, Mikey, if we hadn’t stopped in to visit Sherlock and John, we still wouldn’t know! You were always such a well behaved lad, and here it is that I have to find out from Lockie. Honestly… And what is this nonsense about Willoughby? Even you can’t be so protective of the Holmes legacy that you won’t give this darling girl your last name.”

“Of course not, Mummy, don’t be absurd,” Mycroft returned sharply. “As I said, you are labouring under a number of misconceptions, one of which is that I adopted Claire. Legally, I am currently providing foster care.”

Sabine gasped and set her teacup down with a clunk.

Mycroft held up a placating hand. “However, when the time comes, provided that Claire is in agreement, I will petition for adoption rights and ensure that she has access to everything befitting a Holmes. Including the name.”

Claire snuggled tighter into his chest.

“I’m glad to hear it. And just how long have you been keeping this little secret?”

“Another faulty piece of information…Sherlock was incorrect in his timeline.” Mycroft paused, gathering himself for the oncoming storm. “I’m afraid it has been closer to three months since Claire entered into my care. Eleven weeks, to be precise.”

The look his mother gave him would have even the most stalwart of men searching for an exit. Mycroft wrapped his arm around Claire and focused on his tea. He was comforting her, and absolutely not using her as a shield against his mother’s anger.

“At least you have the decency to blush. I honestly can’t believe you, Mikey. I’m disappointed.”

“I know, Mummy. I was focused on getting Claire settled. I’m afraid I failed to acknowledge your desire to be a part this…change in circumstance.” He looked up to see Sabine smiling softly at him. Rafe gave him a nod and wink. The worst, it would seem, was over.

Claire took advantage of the moment of silence to chime in with her own question. “Why is your mummy calling you Mikey?”

Mycroft sighed. “Because she refuses to acknowledge that I detest nicknames.”

Claire narrowed her eyes and frowned.

“My mother is calling me ‘Mikey’ because she thinks that it makes me seem friendlier than if I go by Mycroft.”

“Maybe she just wants a name that’s special. You know, just for her. Like when you call me ‘bee juice.’”

Mycroft chuckled and kissed her forehead. “It’s bijoux, darling, not bee juice.”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire giggled, “I always say that wrong.”

Rafe stood up and smiled at his son, before pulling out the empty chair beside him. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to learn to say it properly. Now, little one, why don’t you come over and sit by your grandparents and tell us all about yourself.”

Claire looked up at Mycroft and he nodded encouragingly. She slipped off his lap and sat across from him. She answered Sabine and Rafe’s questions slowly at first, but soon melted under their charms and began chattering away happily.

Mycroft had just begun to relax when he heard footsteps in the hallway. Before he could even rise to his feet, Greg pushed open the kitchen door.

“My, I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to drift off on you. You could’ve woken me, you know.” Greg stopped abruptly, glancing quickly between Mycroft and his parents. “Oh God, I’m sorry…I didn’t realize that you had company.”

Mycroft stood and met Greg at the door. “No need to apologise. My parents dropped in quite unexpectedly.”

Greg looked up at Mycroft and swallowed thickly before whispering, “These are your parents?”

“Indeed.”

Sabine and Rafe rose to their feet and started towards Greg. “Now, Mikey,” his mother began with a sidelong glance at him, “I know you have better manners than that. Introduce us, son.”

Mycroft slipped his hand around Greg’s waist, pressing lightly against the small of his back and urging him farther in to the room.

“Gregory Lestrade, may I present my parents, Sabine and Rafe Holmes.”

Rafe shook Greg’s hand warmly while Sabine looked him over from head to toe before offering her hand.

“Your name sounds familiar, young man.”

“Does it? Um…I’m not sure where we might know each other from…”

“Oh Lestrade, of course, you’re Sherlock’s copper, aren’t you?”

“Sort of?”

“Mummy, please, Gregory is an accomplished Detective Inspector who has any number of duties more important than working with Sherlock.”

“Oh, of course he does.” Sabine patted Greg’s hand. “I’ve just read about him in John’s blog. You know, you don’t look nearly as dim as Sherlock says you are.”

Rafe frowned. “Sabine, please.”

“He knows what I meant, don’t you dear?”

Greg rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “Um...sure. No worries, Mrs. Holmes.”

“Sabine, dear,” she corrected, tugging Greg over to Mycroft’s vacated seat beside hers. “Now tell me, how long have you and Mikey been friends?”

Greg chuckled and looked over his shoulder at Mycroft, who looked to be fighting down a blush and losing. “Mikey?” he mouthed with a grin.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and pulled an extra chair out of a nearby corner, settling down beside Greg.

Sabine poured Greg a cup of tea and set it down in front of him. “Now Greg, dear, don’t keep me in suspense, how long have you known my sons?”

“Years, ma’am.” He paused and thought about it. “Going on eight years or so, wouldn’t you say Mycroft?”

“About that.”

“And when did the two of you become ‘friends?’”

It wasn’t much of a stretch for any of the adults at the table to hear the air quotes around the last word. Greg blushed and busied himself with adding sugar and milk to his tea. Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his mother.

“You needn’t add in the painfully obvious emphasis, Mummy. Gregory and I are colleagues who simply maintain a cordial relationship.”

It was Sabine’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh please, Mikey, you might get away with a lie like that with your Whitehall cronies, but you’ll never fool your mother. Now, you’ve kept far too many secrets from us already. It’s in your best interest to tell us what we want to know, young man.”

Greg caught Mycroft’s shocked expression and chuckled into his teacup. There was no way he was getting between a chastising mother and her son. When Mycroft glanced over to him for support, he shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to his tea.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his fingers between his brows. “You know, Mummy, we should find a way to weaponize your maternal instincts. It is utterly impossible for a man to keep his cards close to his chest when you are around.”

Rafe and Greg chuckled when Sabine simply fixed her son with a raised eyebrow.

“If I answer your question, will you promise me that you will stop prying? And, if I provide you and Father with a guest bedroom tonight, you will relocate to one of London’s fine hotels in the morning?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second.” Sabine reached over and patted Claire’s hand. “I refuse to stay in a hotel when I have a granddaughter to spoil.”

“I’m afraid that the parameters of the agreement are non-negotiable.”

“They certainly shall be negotiable, Mycroft Holmes, or I will guarantee that your father and I will begin making monthly visits to the city.”

“Agree to her terms, son. Don’t forget, you learned how to negotiate from her, after all.”

“Fine. Gregory and I have been ‘friends’ for approximately two months. And no, I did not find it necessary to inform you sooner. And before you ask, you may not entreat him to elaborate on any details. The subject is closed.“

Sabine smiled and sipped her tea. “Of course it is, dear.”

Greg decided to save Mycroft from further embarrassment and piped up, “Claire, why don’t you show your grandparents your bedroom? I’m sure they’d love to see all of your drawings.”

Claire nodded excitedly and looked up at her grandmother. “You really want to see my room?”

“Of course, dear. I can’t wait to see what it looks like. Perhaps Greg could join us so that Mikey has a chance to catch up with his father?” She gave Rafe a pointed look before turning towards Greg.

Greg smiled. So much for saving Mycroft. “Yes ma’am, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Claire jumped up and took Sabine’s hand, then came around and took Greg’s too. She giggled and pulled them out of kitchen.

Mycroft sipped his tea and waited until they were well out of earshot before turning to his father.

“I assume Mummy has left you with a script?”

Rafe raised his eyebrow and gave Mycroft a stern look. “Care to rephrase that?”

“Apologies, Father.” Mycroft smiled blandly, “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss with me? Something that is concerning Mummy, perhaps?”

“You really aren’t garnering a lot of good will tonight, son. Don’t think for a moment that your mother has forgiven you.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Of course she hasn’t. If there is one thing that woman has excelled at in her life, it is her ability to hold a grudge.”

“I suggest a very large, very expensive Christmas present. And your sincerely elated presence for the entirety of the holidays.” Rafe chuckled at Mycroft’s sour expression.

“What is it that she wanted you to discuss with me? I doubt that Claire will allow you to miss out on the grand bedroom tour for long.”

“It isn’t just your mother, Mycroft, it is a concern of mine as well.” He paused and fiddled with the handle of his teacup. “It’s been a very long time since you allowed yourself to be…emotionally motivated. We just want to be sure you know what you are doing. That you are, well, clear-headed about the matter.”

“You’re concerned that I may have drugged myself into a state of domestic bliss?” Mycroft shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Father, you only have to worry about one of your sons dabbling in, shall we say, pharmaceutical distractions.”

“You can hardly blame us, Mycroft. You don’t ring us for weeks, and then we hear that you are raising a child. And have a partner!”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his fingers against the furrow between his brows. “Father, please, I explained the situation with Claire. I was hoping that I would not have to explain the situation with Gregory until he and I formalized our relationship. It is still early days, you know.”

“Of course, son, but we are worried. You are acting quite out of character.”

Mycroft was quiet for a few long moments, studying his hands. He took a deep breath and then looked up at his father, his expression open. “I’ve been alone for such a long time, Father. I didn’t even realize how much until Sherlock went away. Once he left, I realized just how little there was in my life outside of my work. It seemed…hollow. This house was just a mausoleum to a lonely man. A man with nothing more than a shadowy title and a mountain of paperwork.” Mycroft sighed and looked down. “Is it really such a surprise that I wanted more?”

Rafe placed his hand gently on Mycroft’s shoulder. “No, son. Of course not. You know, this is all your mother and I have ever wanted for you boys…for you to be happy. I’m glad you are finally realizing that.” He squeezed Mycroft’s shoulder, and looked at him with concern. “Are you happy, son?”

Mycroft smiled and met his father’s eyes. “I’m certainly getting there.”

“Good to hear. Now, shall we go track down your mother before she decides that Claire would benefit from a live-in extended family?”

“Oh god, I’d give nearly anything to be sure that didn’t occur.”

“Then once more onto the breach, shall we?"

Mycroft didn’t even pull away when his father caught him in a hug on the way to Claire’s bedroom.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuxedos, State Dinners, and Why the Baker Street boys shouldn't mind children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while... but I made this chapter extra long to make up for my absence!
> 
> As always, much love to my beta and long distance bestie, lyricalsoul. She's awesome and you should all send her your gratitude for making me look like a better writer!

Eight. Days. His parents had been there for eight days. Eight days of being called “Mikey”, of knowing looks and prying questions, of schedule disruptions and his house being out of order. It’s not as though he wasn’t glad that Claire was bonding with his family, or that he begrudged the fact that they wanted to spend time with him. It is simply that his life is a strictly ordered affair and he felt much calmer when he had control over his personal space.

He sighed as he walked into the study, with his cup of tea. His parents left after seeing Claire off to school, and he was taking a few hours to himself before heading into his office. He had been up much of the night before dealing with a crisis in eastern Asia, and felt that a cup of tea and some well deserved silence would not go amiss. Especially since he would be working tonight as well.

He really should call Gregory. Let him know that his world had once again realigned, and that it was now safe to visit without having to worry about motherly interrogation. Though, when the five of them had had lunch together a few days ago, Gregory was not only charming, but had seemed to thoroughly enjoy his parent’s company. Still, he was quite looking forward to having Gregory to himself for the evening, despite the fact that they would be attending a formal, work-related event. About which Gregory was not yet aware.

Mycroft picked up his mobile, dialing Greg’s number with one thumb as he took another swallow of tea.

“Lestrade.”

He fought back a fond sigh at the sound of Greg’s voice. It was such a nice sound after so stressful a week.

“Ah, Gregory. Might you have a moment?”

“Yeah, sure, just give me a mo…” He trailed off and walked into his office, pulling the door shut behind him. “There we go. What’s up, Mycroft?”

“Nothing of terrible importance. If I’m being wholly honest, I just rather wanted to hear your voice.”

“Well, that’s certainly flattering. How are things going with your parents?”

“Much better now, as they finally deemed it time to remove themselves from my home. As much as I am pleased that they had the opportunity to meet Claire, it is rather nice to have my home returned to my control.”

“I’ll bet. Your mum does sort of take over the place, doesn’t she.”

“Indeed. Now you know where Sherlock gets his dramatic flair from.”

“Right. None of which you inherited, of course.”

“Of course not. Perish the thought.”

Greg chuckled and tossed a few files onto his desk. “So now that your folks have gone, are you planning on celebrating this weekend?”

“Not exactly, though I was hoping that you might make an appearance in my plans. It seems as though it’s been an age since we had a moment to properly share in each other’s company.”

“Please tell me that was a meager attempt at innuendo.”

Mycroft huffed a small laugh. “At this point, mere innuendo would hardly suffice, though, unfortunately, we shall both have to suffer that particular thirst a bit longer.”

“Awww…now you’re just being a tease.”

“One of my less than stellar qualities, I must admit.”

“So give us the bad news then. If I feature into your plans, but not into your bed, something must be up.”

“So astute, my dear. Sherlock hardly gives you enough credit.” Mycroft paused as Gregory snorted in good-natured disgust. “Unfortunately, I have a work commitment that I must attend this evening. However, I do have the opportunity to bring a plus one. I was hoping to entice you to fulfill the role.”

“You’re trying to tempt me by asking me to a stuffy government function, after warning me, in no uncertain terms that I won’t be getting any tonight? Tsk, tsk, Mycroft, you’re usually so much better at sweetening the deal. Must be slipping.”

“If I promised you gourmet food, unlimited alcohol, and a little covert surveillance, might I entice you?”

“Getting better...”

“Did I mention that it’s a black tie affair?”

“Mmm…the thought of seeing you in a tux is certainly helping your cause. Still, I don’t get to take you out of said tux, so it’s hardly a deal clincher.”

“Perhaps not entirely, but my car does have a rather ample rear seat, and my driver is nothing if not discreet. He also has no particular compunction against driving around the city until I give him the signal to head home.”

“Now, that’s more like it. You know I don’t have a tux, right?”

“I took the liberty of having a lovely tuxedo made to your measurements. I thought it best if we were prepared. It was only a matter of time until one of these events cropped up and I needed an intelligent and devastatingly handsome date for the evening.”

“Trying to smooth the way with flattery, so I don’t get annoyed with you buying me clothes?”

“Is it working?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt.” Greg sighed and plopped down into his chair. “Yeah, okay, I’m in. What time should I expect you?”

“I will have the tuxedo delivered to your office within the hour, and the car will be ‘round to pick you up promptly at seven.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“And Gregory…”

“Hmm?”

“I am very much looking forward to seeing you in a tuxedo.”

Greg laughed. “Too bad we both know that you won’t get to see me out of it, no matter how charming you are.”

“I have a very vivid imagination, Gregory. My mind will happily conjure what my eyes will not experience tonight. Regardless, I _am_ planning on seeing you properly mussed before the night’s end.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. I’ll see you soon, Mycroft.

“Indeed. Have a pleasant day.” Mycroft rang off with a smile. He poured himself another cup of tea as he braced himself for his next call. Claire had been quite insistent that she desired to spend more time with Sherlock and John. He quite seriously doubted that either man would be willing to babysit for the evening, but he promised his mother that he would at least call. He sighed and dialed Sherlock.

“Is this an emergency?”

“Hello to you too, brother dear. So nice to hear your voice.”

Sherlock snorted at the saccharine sarcasm that dripped from his greeting.

“Get to the point, Mycroft. Is this an emergency?”

“Not at all.”

“Excellent. Goodbye.”

Sherlock rang off before he could say another word. Mycroft rolled his eyes and dialed John’s mobile instead. With any luck, he would be somewhere his brother was not.

“Hello?”

“Hello, John. How are you this morning?”

“Alright, until you called. What’s Sherlock done now?”

“Thankfully, nothing,” Mycroft responded dryly. “Or at least nothing of the severity for which I would be notified.”

“Thank God for small favours.”

“Speaking of, I was hoping that I might prevail upon your good nature and ask for a favour of my own.”

“That depends. Is this a ‘please make sure my brother eats’ sort of a favour, or a ‘tell my brother I’m sorry for setting a psychopath on him’ sort of a favour?”

“Very droll, John.”

He chuckled. “I do try.”

“Be that as it may, I hardly think that there is any continued benefit in bringing up the Moriarity fiasco. Some things should remain in the past, don’t you think?”

“Hmm.”

“I am calling because Claire would love to spend time with you and Sherlock, though heaven only knows why. And as I must attend an event this evening, would you be willing to mind her for a few hours?”

“You’re asking me to babysit?”

“I am.”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

“Not at all. However Claire is not one to be easily deterred. I can say with confidence that between your medical prowess, and Sherlock’s fiercely protective nature, she will be quite safe.”

“Have you asked Sherlock?”

“No. He hung up on me. Petulant brat.”

John laughed. “Okay, I’ll speak for both of us then. We’ll take her for the evening. We don’t have any cases on, and she might help distract Sherlock for a bit. If nothing else, she might help deter some of his more destructive tendencies.”

“We can only hope. I’ll drop her off around half six, if that suits.”

“Sounds fine. Now I have to go tell His Majesty that we will have company tonight. Joy of joys.”

“Best of luck, John. Might I suggest you soften the blow by providing him with a package of chocolate Hobnobs?”

“That works?”

“It did when he was a child.”

“Well, cheers for that, then. Bye, Mycroft.”

“Good day, John.”

Mycroft ended the call and set his mobile on the table. As he shifted in his seat he noticed a piece of pink fabric poking up from between the cushions. He plucked it out and sighed when he saw that it was one of Claire’s socks. The child refused to keep them on her feet and had an annoying habit of secreting them away like a squirrel hiding nuts. She thought that if she “lost” them, that he would eventually give in and allow her to run barefoot through the rest of her life. Little did she know how stubborn he could truly be.

He groaned when that one pink sock led to the discovery of three more that he had failed to find on his previous recovery missions, and with that, he decided to go into the office. At least Claire hadn’t yet had the opportunity to engage in any clandestine sock hiding in that locale.

* * *

“Gregory, please stop fidgeting,” Mycroft chided, reaching across the seat and patting Greg’s leg. “You look quite dashing in formal wear, you know.”

Greg gave a wry chuckle and tugged on his cuffs. “The last time I was kitted out like this was the day I got married. Can’t blame a bloke for being a bit nervous, what with how all of that turned out.”

Mycroft smiled. “Relax, I promise you that I am not surreptitiously planning to whisk you away on a honeymoon.”

“Shame. Probably would be more fun with you.”

A few knots of tension in Greg’s chest relaxed as the sound of Mycroft’s genuine laughter filled the car.

“Mycroft?”

“Hmm?”

“Please tell me that I don’t have to worry about meeting the queen tonight.”

“No, Gregory, Her Majesty will not be in attendance tonight. If there is ever an event where an introduction of that nature might occur, I’ll be sure to give you enough warning to panic properly.”

“It disturbs me that I am dating a man where that might even be a possibility.”

“Not so much a possibility, as much as an inevitability. Her Majesty and I are on quite good terms.” Mycroft smirked as Greg’s jaw dropped.

“Christ. How is this my life?”

“We all have our crosses to bear, my dear.”

“I know! Mine is huge and has the name ‘Holmes’ inscribed in great honking letters across it.”

Mycroft chuckled and squeezed his hand. Greg bit his bottom lip and turned to watch the city pass by through the rain streaked windows.

“So, no Queen. You promise?”

“I promise. The highest ranking official in attendance tonight will be the Prime Minister.”

Greg’s eyes widened comically and he bit back another curse.

“And, again, before you panic, you needn’t worry overmuch. It is highly unlikely that we will have more than a passing conversation with David. He finds me to be, and I quote “an overbearing bore that has a sadistic streak and delights in creeping through the shadows.” Needless to say, beyond basic pleasantries, we try to avoid each other at these events, as we spend more than enough time together during the week.”

“Again, how the hell is this my life? You honestly expect me to make small talk with the Prime Minister?”

“I do. And you will undoubtedly be your polite, charming self, and I will be extraordinarily proud of you.”

“Mycroft! There is no way I can make small talk with the bloody Prime Minister! Normal people don’t just know how to do that kind of thing!” Greg groaned into his hands. “I’m going to make a complete arse of myself.”

Mycroft reached over and tugged Greg’s hands away from his face and kept ahold of them.

“Gregory, I would never have invited you to join me tonight if I didn’t have full confidence in your abilities to mingle with my colleagues in an appropriate manner. And, if you get stuck for a topic, David is a huge fan of Chelsea and would probably adore having a conversation about football.”

“Great, stick me with a Chelsea fan. I’m starting to think his description of you isn’t too far off. Not that he knew you were listening, of course, being the Prince of Darkness as you are.”

Mycroft chuckled and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Greg’s lips. “I promise that I’ll make it up to you, if you do indeed get roped into that conversation.”

“I do seem to remember something about you making sure I was properly mussed,” Greg mused, leaning in for another, deeper kiss.

Mycroft pulled back. “And I am a man of my word; however, it would not do to begin our evening that way.” He dragged his long fingers slowly up the length of Greg’s thigh, stopping just as his pinkie nudged the juncture of his hip, and then squeezed lightly. “I promise that your patience will be duly rewarded, Gregory.”

Greg let out a frustrated groan and rolled his eyes at Mycroft’s mischievous smirk.

“Spoilsport.”

* * *

“John!”

“JOHN!”

John sighed and walked into the sitting room. “What is it now, Sherlock?”

“The child is staring at me.”

John glanced at Claire, who was sitting in his chair with her arms crossed, glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, mirroring her.

“Well, were you staring at her?”

Sherlock looked up at him and scowled. “I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

“Of course you don’t.” John walked over to his chair and rested his hip against the arm. “Claire, love, please stop antagonizing your uncle. Sherlock, stop being a prat.”

They ignored him.

John stifled the urge to groan. “So, the two of you have really been sitting here just staring at each other for the last ten minutes?”

“I wasn’t ‘just staring’ at her, John. You know my methods.”

John snorted. “And what have you deduced then, Mr. Consulting Detective?”

“That Mycroft has far too much influence over her already. She is going to be just as insufferable as he is.”

“And what about you, Claire? Learn anything interesting about your uncle?”

“He has the same eyes as his mum, and his fingers do that twitchy thing like My’s when he gets annoyed.”

“Claire: one, Sherlock: zero.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away as John laughed and patted Claire on the shoulder.

“Well now, you two, I’m going to go out and pick up takeaway for dinner, so you are going to have to find something to occupy yourselves that doesn’t involve me. Or staring at each other. And before you even ask, Sherlock, you are not allowed to show Claire any photos of anything involved with your work, or your brother will personally see to it that you never set foot on a crime scene again.”

Having been initially met with silence, John turned to put on his coat when he was met with a huffy, “That’s sounds boring.” In stereo. When he turned back around, both Claire and Sherlock were watching each other and trying very hard not to laugh.

“Please, for God’s sake, try not to do anything that will make Mycroft deport me.”

Sherlock waved him away. “Of course not, John, don’t be silly. Claire and I will be fine. Off you pop.”

Claire waved a hand over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off her uncle. “We’ll be good. Promise.”

* * *

“Um…Mycroft?”

“Hmm?” He tipped his head towards Greg, while offering a polite nod and a small smile to a bloke who walked past.

“I’m not trying to sound paranoid, or anything, but people are staring. At us.”

“Of course they are, Gregory. Exactly as I knew they would. My plan to ‘shock and awe’ my colleagues is going splendidly.”

“Well, good that you don’t think it’s creepy. I’ve got a pretty good handle on that feeling, so there’s no need for us to double up.” He paused as a woman walked by them, not even trying to hide the fact that she was checking him out. “Mind telling me why they are staring?”

“It really is very simple. You’ve never before been seen at this type of event, you look extremely handsome, and most shockingly, you came with me.”

“So, are you trying to tell me that I’m part of your grand ‘coming out’ scheme?”

Mycroft snorted. Though even that was done with elegance. Lucky bastard. “Hardly. There is not a person in this room who would be surprised at the fact that I’m gay. It’s the notion that I’ve come with a date at all, or at least one who isn’t Anthea, that has heads turning.”

“So it’s not going to be a problem when I spin you around the dance floor later?”

“As much as I’d love to dance with you, my goal for the evening is to surprise my associates, not render them catatonic. I fear the knowledge that I also know how to dance might be too much for these mere mortals.”

“Shame, that.”

“That’s not to say that we couldn’t engage in a dance at some point in the future.”

“Is that supposed to be a euphemism?”

Mycroft winked and shot him a salacious grin, before turning to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Handing off one glass to Greg, he manoeuvred them over to the edge of the room near the large windows. It gave Mycroft a perfect view of the whole room, without being too obvious about it.

“So, where is your lovely, P.A. today? Did she scarper?”

“For God’s sake Gregory, never let Anthea hear you refer to her as a P.A. She knows how to kill a man in at least seventeen different ways using only standard office supplies. The very best you could hope for is broken legs and a short hospital stay.”

“So what do you call her?”

“Indispensable, and uniquely gifted.”

“That sounds like advice from a man who learned the hard way.”

“Indeed, though I was sufficiently her superior that she offered me a warning rather than a bloodletting. It’s a lesson I’ll not soon forget. She prefers the term colleague, if you must refer to her by anything but name. “

“So your scary ninja didn’t need to be here tonight?”

“Oh, she’ll be here. As I mentioned earlier, this is a strategic event, not a social one. She simply had a better offer of a date.”

“Oh? And who’s that, then?”

“Her husband.”

Greg coughed as he choked on a swallow of champagne. “Anthea’s married?”

Mycroft’s response was cut off by a pleasant feminine laugh as Anthea came up alongside them.

“You really needn’t sound so surprised, Greg.”

Greg blushed as she patted his shoulder and began to stammer an awkward apology.

“Really, it’s fine. No harm done. Allow me to introduce my husband, Kjell. Kjell, darling, this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.”

The man who reached out to shake his hand looked to be straight out of Norse mythology – tall, blond, with broad shoulders and large hands – he seemed to dwarf his wife, a woman who Greg never considered particularly petite before.

“Kjell Svalestad,” he greeted with a warm smile, “it is a pleasure to meet you. Anthea has told me much about you.”

Greg chuckled. “Wish I could say the same, mate, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello again, Mycroft. You’re looking well. Parenthood seems to be agreeing with you.”

“Thank you, Kjell. I’m finding it to be quite an adventure, as I’m sure Anthea has told you. Pleasant, of course, but a bit daunting nonetheless.”

Kjell laughed and pulled Anthea against his hip. “Try not to be too honest, if you please, I’m still trying to convince my kjære here, that she would make a magnificent mother.”

Mycroft shared a smile with Anthea, as she rolled her eyes. “As I’m sure she would. If nothing else, years of helping me deal with Sherlock has inured her to the worst.”

Kjell smiled down at Anthea and winked. “A silver lining on all those headaches, yes love?”

“Something like that,” Anthea laughed.

As Mycroft and Anthea reviewed their strategy for the evening, Greg and Kjell were left to make small talk and survey the room.

“So then, Kjell,” Greg sipped his champagne, “what is it that you do for a living?”

“I am to Norway what my wife is to England.”

Greg raised his eyebrows and glanced up at the other man. “Really? That’s got to make for an interesting marriage.”

“It does mean that we both certainly understand having unorthodox schedules.”

“I imagine so. Though, if you don’t mind my asking, how does it work with you in Norway and her in England? I can’t imagine doing Anthea’s job by teleconference.”

Kjell laughed, warm and bright. “No, certainly not. We talk as much as we can, and are grateful that our employers are not only allies, but also attend many of the same international meetings, so our opportunities to see each other are not terribly scarce. We’ve also made them agree to one week a month with no work interruptions. It’s unusual, yes, living in different countries, but it has worked for us for the last six years.”

Greg raised his glass in a toast. “Cheers, mate. That’s great.”

Kjell raised his glass in response and took a sip of champagne. “It’s nice to see Mycroft at one of these events with a date. And not only because it selfishly allows me to dance with my wife. I’m sure it was quite the surprise to their colleagues, as he’s never been known to be particularly social.”

“Mycroft told me he was going for ‘shock and awe’. From the looks I keep getting, I’d say it’s working.”

“So would I.” Kjell chuckled as Greg flinched subtly, watching as a man across the room raked his eyes up and down Greg’s body.

* * *

John checked his watch again. Twenty-two minutes. How much trouble could Sherlock and Claire get into in twenty-two minutes? He groaned and quickened his steps. He was going along at a steady jog by the time he reached Baker Street. And what did it say about his life choices when he was genuinely relieved to see the building still standing and all of the windows of the flat still intact?

He opened the door to the hallway and took a tentative sniff. No smoke, no ungodly stenches, no discernable chemical smells. That was a good sign. He could hear both their voices, which meant they were both alive, and conscious. Maybe they had actually listened to him. He was honestly feeling pretty good about things as he walked up the stairs toward the flat. That was, of course, until he opened the door.

And watched Claire take a drink out of an Erlenmeyer flask.

“Jesus, Sherlock!”

Sherlock looked up in confusion as John dashed into the kitchen and knelt in front of Claire.

“Problem, John?”

“Of course there’s a problem, you bloody idiot! What did she just drink? Claire, love, tell me how you feel. Are you feeling sick? Dizzy?”

Sherlock heaved a sigh and pushed his goggles up to his forehead. “John, relax. She’s fine.”

“What did she drink, Sherlock? Why the hell weren’t you watching her?” John, in full doctor mode, was assessing Claire’s vials, while reaching for his phone to call NPIS.

“I was watching her, John. You really needn’t panic.”

“What. Did. She. Drink?”

“It is a 0.9% saline solution, in a clean flask. Salt water. Sterile, medical grade saline. She really is fine.”

John sighed and sat back on his heels. “Well, thank Christ for that.” He looked up at Claire and pointed sternly at her. “If you are doing science, you never taste anything. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s safe. Don’t do it again, got it?”

Claire nodded, biting her lip. “Sherlock told me the same thing. He said that being safe was important, and that was the first thing we talked about. And then he said that just this once I could do it because that was part of the experiment. To see if I could line up the flasks from sweetest to saltiest.”

John turned to Sherlock. “You set up an experiment for her?”

“Of course I did. You left us with little else to, what with your list of prohibitions.” Sherlock had turned back to his batch of petri dishes, some of which were growing questionable, bright green blobs. He was acting nonchalant, but John could tell that his reaction had hurt him.

“You know that is how supervillians are made, right? By drinking unknown things out of beakers.”

“First, I would never harm a child. Second, it was a flask, not a beaker. Third, I’ve deleted any knowledge I may have once held about comic books.”

John sighed and stood up, grasping Sherlock on the shoulder as he passed behind him to set out the takeaway. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I should’ve known that you wouldn’t put Claire in any danger.”

Sherlock harrumphed, but John caught the slight smile he couldn’t quite hide.

“Okay, dinner is all set. Why don’t you two take off the goggles, grab a plate, and head into the sitting room. We’ll find something to watch on the telly.”

As Claire and Sherlock left the room, John slumped against the edge of the table. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Greg shuffled slightly as he watched Mycroft and Anthea in their element. They were currently speaking with the ambassador from…somewhere. Mycroft had pointed the man out earlier in the evening, indicating that he was one of the individuals that he had to speak to, but Greg had been so overwhelmed by whole event that the details now escaped him. It looked like they were talking about something serious, if the Ambassador’s expression was anything to go by. Mycroft, of course, looked calm and in control, never so much as frowning. And Greg found it sexy as hell.

He took another swallow of champagne and tried to force down the blush that he felt rising as other parts of his anatomy had begun to take notice as well. Jesus, he was acting like a teenager. Or a creeper with a James Bond fetish.

“Quite handsome, isn’t he?”

Greg started at the voice from his left, and turned. The man who had spoken was a short, roundish sort of a fellow with small eyes and fleshy jowls. He reminded Greg of the wharf rats they occasionally came upon at crime scenes along the Thames.

“Excuse me?” Greg asked, frowning at the crass greeting.

“Mycroft Holmes,” the man said nodding over towards where he was standing. “He cuts quite a handsome figure. And so commanding. Wouldn’t you agree, Detective Inspector?”

Greg fought the urge to glare. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

The rat man chuckled. “No, no. Of course not.”

“Then how do you know who I am?”

“Like Mr. Holmes, you rather stand out from the crowd.” Those small, beady eyes gave Greg a once over and then offered up an oily smile. “However, unlike him, you do turn up in the newspapers every now and again. A man who works so closely with Mycroft’s dear brother seems to be the type of man one should try to remember. Particularly when you begin turning up at an event such as this.”

“You have me at a disadvantage then. You know who I am, but I don’t have a clue who you are.”

The man gave a false little bow. “Lucian Navros, at your service.”

Greg smiled wanly, his natural tendency to be polite having been thoroughly quashed.

“So tell me, Inspector, what is it that brought you to our little gathering tonight? Not official business, I hope?”

“Not tonight, no.”

“Hmm. And yet, here you are. And watching Mycroft quite closely as well, it seems.”

“Is that a problem?”

Navros chuckled, “No, no, not at all. As I said, the man is quite handsome, if one goes in for that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing?”

That unctuous little smirk was back. “Well, I’m sure a man of your, shall we say, worldly experience, doesn’t need to have every little detail spelled out, now does he?”

Greg opened his mouth to reply, polite company be damned. A deep voice from behind him interrupted before he could get a word out.

“Lucian, I see you’ve met Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

Greg looked over his shoulder to see Mycroft striding up, looking formidable.

“Oh, Mycroft, you didn’t honestly think you could keep this little gem to yourself all evening, did you?”

Mycroft gave the man a poisonous smile. “The thought never crossed my mind. Gregory is here as my guest, and as such, should take every opportunity to network with individuals that would be helpful to him in his scope of influence.”

“Just so. Which is precisely why I took it upon myself to secure an introduction. I’m sure that you had intended to introduce us, of course.” Navros smiled sweetly. “Perhaps it slipped your mind?”

“You have known me for nearly a decade, Lucian. Do you honestly think I’d let anything I deemed of importance to slip my mind?”

The rat man’s smile turned to a thinly disguised glare as he looked between Mycroft and Greg. Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, please forgive my intrusion then, Detective Inspector.”

Greg grinned, all teeth and sharp edges. “Don’t worry, Mr. Navros, I’ve already forgotten the whole conversation.” He pointedly turned his back on the other man and focused his attention on his date. “So, are we about done here, Mycroft?”

“Absolutely.” Mycroft took Greg’s hand, and looked over at Kjell and Anthea, who were both wearing sour expressions.

Greg took a deep breath and shook off the urge to create a scene. “So who was that little troll, then?”  
  
Mycroft glanced over Greg’s shoulder with stormy eyes. “Lucian Navros is sycophantic parasite who has just enough use to prevent me from seeing him reassigned to some dark, cold, miserable location.”

“I still think you should do it anyway,” Anthea grouched as they joined them. “I hate that man.”

“As do I, Anthea. Unfortunately, he has connections in Eastern Europe that I have not yet managed to secure for myself. But believe me, the moment I do, his influence in this government will be a thing of the past.”

“Can I punch him before you send him away?” Greg asked with a wicked smile.

Mycroft looked over at him. “Why? What did he say to you?” he hissed through clenched teeth

“Nothing important. Just seems like I’d be doing the world a favour.”

“I’ll help you, Greg,” Kjell interjected.

“And you had better save me a seat, sir.” Anthea added with a wink.

Mycroft laughed. “I’ll certainly see what I can do. And with that particularly charming thought, I think it is time we took our leave, Gregory. Anthea and Kjell have kindly offered to tie up the few remaining loose ends, and I promised I would pick up Claire at a reasonable hour.”

“That’s not all you promised,” Greg replied with a cheeky grin, just to watch Mycroft blush.

“Off with you then,” Anthea urged. “There are things even I don’t need to know about my boss.”

Kjell laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I would hope not. Goodnight Mycroft, Greg. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He shook both of their hands and led Anthea away.

“You are a horrible man, Gregory Lestrade.”

“Nah, I’m not. You know you were thinking the same thing.”

“Thinking and saying are two different things, my dear.”

“But you blush so nicely. With incentive like that, a man can’t help himself.”

“Perhaps I should find you something else to focus your attention on?”

“You did promise.”

“I did indeed. I think you might find the ride back to your flat particularly stimulating.”

“Stimulating, huh?”

“Stimulating, arousing…any number adjectives leap to mind.”

“Isn’t the English language great?”

“It’s certainly one of my favourites. Though the French have added quite a few charming innovations.”

“Have they now?”

“Indeed they have. And I shall put them all on display for you once we reach the car. I am, after all, a man of my word.”

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, Mycroft had Greg’s hips pinned to the seat of the car, and was kneeling on the floor between his legs. They had wasted no time at all once they reached the privacy of Mycroft’s car and with the way Mycroft was mouthing at the placket of his trousers, Greg was sure he was either going to come far more quickly than he intended or was going to die of a heart attack.

“Jesus, My…your mouth.” Greg could feel the slow slide of Mycroft’s grin against his trapped cock and groaned, “Ah, fuck…”

Mycroft pulled back and reached for his flies, flicking the button open and sliding his hand inside to press the heel of his hand against Greg’s cock. “While I certainly admire your suggestion, my dear, I think you and I are both a bit beyond the age where a quick fuck in the back of car would do our bodies any favours.”

“It would do _my_ body a hell of a favour.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Perhaps, but then I couldn’t do this…”

Greg’s snarky response dissolved into a moan as Mycroft tugged down his trousers and slid his mouth down his now exposed length in one smooth motion. Mycroft hummed as he suckled softly, enjoying the way Greg fit against his palate, and the heavy weight against his tongue. He pressed his tongue against the large vein on the underside of Greg’s cock and slowly dragged his mouth back up to the head, catching the first drip of wetness that welled up from tip with a teasing lick.

Greg bucked his hips up seeking the heat of Mycroft’s mouth, but Mycroft pulled back so Greg thrust into nothing but air. As Greg sank back down into the seat, Mycroft wrapped his long fingers around the base of Greg’s cock and gave it a single, long pull, before dipping down and rolling his tongue around the glans. And then his focused all of his attention on dragging every moan, sigh, and breathless plea out of his lover.

Greg’s heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest. God, it would be embarrassing to die of a blow job. He took a risk and looked down at Mycroft, and nearly came at the sight of that beautiful, mouth stretched wide around his prick. Watching Mycroft bob and suck at his length with his eyes closed was quite possibly the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Without conscious thought, his hands found his Mycroft’s head, one caressing his cheek and the other smoothing back the wayward curl that fell across his brow.

Mycroft groaned at the feel of Greg’s hands, and looked up through his lashes. Greg looked utterly wrecked. It certainly wouldn’t be long now, Mycroft thought, dipping his tongue lightly into the slit before pressing down deep and holding Greg at the back of his throat.

“Oh God…oh please, My.”

At the sound Greg’s strangled plea, Mycroft pulled back for a quick breath and released Greg’s hips before diving down again and allowing his lover to thrust up into his mouth. After several deep thrusts, Greg’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling at the short strands at the back of his neck as began to lose his rhythm.

It was only a moment or two before he came, filling Mycroft’s mouth. He collapsed back bonelessly as Mycroft swallowed and then lapped at his softening cock. Once Mycroft leaned back, looking more than a little pleased with himself, Greg reached out and pulled him hard against his chest. He smeared his lips up Mycroft’s neck before dragging his teeth against his jaw and capturing his lips in a filthy kiss. Mycroft groaned and rocked against his thigh, hard and wanting.

Just as Greg reached down to undo Mycroft’s trousers and return the favour, so to speak, Mycroft pulled back and sat back on his heels, exhaling sharply.

Greg frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Mycroft just shook his head and looked down. He took several shaky breaths and pressed his hand firmly against the bulge in his trousers with a grimace before looking back at Greg.

“I can’t.” He panted and pressed harder. “We mustn’t.”

“Why not? What’s the matter? Is there something wrong?” Greg was struggling to get his words out, his concern warring with the post-orgasmic haze.

Mycroft took another deep breath and gave Greg a weak smile. “I cannot imagine anything worse than having to walk into Sherlock’s flat to pick up my daughter after having it off in my car with you.”

Greg barked out a laugh and reached out to pull Mycroft onto the seat beside him. “Curse of being a Holmes, huh?”

Mycroft groaned and dropped his forehead onto Greg’s shoulder. “Stop laughing. You look lovely when you laugh, and it isn’t helping my current predicament.”

Greg ran his hand along Mycroft’s jaw and then down the side of his neck, squeezing gently. It caused Mycroft to whimper before he moved away and crossed his legs.

“Stop touching. I only have a few more blocks to pull myself together.”

“You know, it’s your own fault. You’re the one who looks so bloody gorgeous in that tux. Can’t help myself.”

“Stop speaking as well. And looking at me. Just…sit there.”

“You really have a way with killing the mood.”

“Good. I don’t think I could handle a mood, right now.”

Greg laughed and tried to pull his clothing into some semblance of order. By the time they arrived at Greg’s flat, Mycroft was still flushed, but looked mostly put together. Neither of them were so naïve to think that Sherlock wouldn’t know exactly what they had got up to, but at least it wasn’t painfully (quite literally so, in Mycroft’s case) obvious.

As the car rolled to a stop, Greg leaned over and kissed Mycroft deeply, relishing the taste of himself on Mycroft’s tongue.

“Goodnight, My. Tonight was certainly interesting.”

Mycroft reached up and cupped Greg’s cheek. “Thank you for accompanying me, Gregory. It was a lovely evening.”

“I particularly enjoyed that last bit. You were right about the French. Creative buggers, aren’t they?”

“I’ve always thought so. Though I do believe that we should review your linguistic skills sometime in the future. The very near future.”

Greg chuckled. “Think you can talk John and Sherlock into minding Claire two nights in a row?”

“Highly unlikely. Though Claire could likely be coaxed into an early bedtime tomorrow night if given enough incentive.”

“Oh? Well, lucky for us you are an excellent negotiator.”

“At this point, I’ll give her whatever it takes. She can have a pony, for all I care. I’m hardly in a fit state to negotiate anything requiring higher brain function.”

“Well, try not to let any state secrets slip out during the negotiations. Can’t have a five year old ruling the world or anything.”

“So long as you are naked and in my bed by nine tomorrow night, I’ll give the child the keys to Vauxhall myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll make tomorrow worth the wait.” Greg kissed him again, long and deep, before sliding out of the car.

Mycroft took five long minutes trying to regain his composure before tapping on the divider to signal the driver to continue on to Baker Street.

* * *

Having been waved upstairs by Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft found the door to his brother’s flat cracked open slightly. Taking it as an invitation, he pushed the door open and took in the scene before him.

John was dozing in his chair with a book lying forgotten in his lap. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, his low baritone recounting the tales of young Jim Hawkins, one hand cradling the worn copy of Treasure Island, and the other running through Claire’s curls as she slept on his lap.

Sherlock glanced up as Mycroft entered, his lip curling in distaste as he gave Mycroft a once over, and took in his less than crisp appearance.

“For God’s sake, Mycroft, must you? You know I won’t be able to delete that image.”

He set the book aside and nudged Claire, gently waking her. Claire regarded Mycroft sleepily, blinking slowly against the light. When she reached out for him, Mycroft gathered her up in his arms and she tucked her face into his neck.

“Hello, bijou, did you have a pleasant evening?”

Claire yawned and nodded. “Mmhmm. It was fun.”

Mycroft forced his face to remain still when he saw the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitch up into a smile. “I’m very glad to hear that, darling.”

“Can we go to South America?” Claire mumbled into his collar.

“South America? Why do you want to go there?”

“Because I want to see a Bot fly for real. That’s where they live.”

Sherlock snorted out a laugh, and Mycroft glared at him. “I specifically asked you not to show my daughter any questionable images, Sherlock. For god’s sake, that seemed like a simple enough request!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and waved his hand over at John. “That was John’s doing, not mine. He was the one who thought medical textbooks were a better idea than pursuing quantifiable scientific data. He misjudged Claire’s tolerance for photographs of parasitic infections.”

Claire nuzzled into Mycroft’s throat again and nodded. “He was just grouchy because Uncle Sherlock let me drink an experiment.”

Mycroft groaned and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “I knew this was a bad idea.” He pressed his cheek into Claire’s curls. “Why do I let you talk me into these things, Claire?”

She yawned widely and closed her eyes. “Because I’m cute, and you like your brother.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft with a smug grin and raised his eyebrow.

“I’ll admit to no such thing.” He inclined his head to his brother, “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, brother-mine. Goodnight, Claire.”

Claire waved a sleepy hand over her shoulder as Mycroft turned to leave, pulling the door closed behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional Upheaval and Five year-old Adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never give up, never surrender! Thank you to everyone who has sent me notes encouraging me to keep going with this story. I never truly abandoned it, but it very definitely took a back seat during the last 11 months of angst in my life. Things are calmer now and I should be posting more regularly. I'm grateful for everyone who has invested their time in my story and hope you'll continue to stick with me.
> 
> As always, to my friend lyricalsoul, thank you. For everything, including the commas.

Greg scrubbed a hand through his hair and then rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. It started with an early morning crime scene, and, glancing at the clock, he realized he was pushing sixteen hours at work. Still, if he stayed a bit longer and finished his paperwork, he might actually get his morning off tomorrow.

It wasn’t that he had anything planned. Mycroft was off in some foreign country, doing something he didn’t have the clearance to know about, so it wasn’t like they had plans. But he was hopeful that Mycroft had been right about his trip only lasting a week, so he had cleared his morning, on the off chance that they might be able to at least have a cup of coffee together. If not, at least he’d get to sleep in, which was enough of a rarity that he was looking forward to it.

He was just about to start up again when his mobile rang. He didn’t even glance at the number before answering. There were only a few people who would call this late at night, so whatever it was, it was probably important.

“Lestrade.”

“Greg? It’s Ada. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you might be available to stop over.”

Greg’s pulse picked up at the thought of something happening to Mycroft, or god forbid, Claire.

“Something wrong?”

“I am honestly not sure. Mycroft returned home from his business trip earlier this evening. Physically, he appears fine, but he seems…troubled. After spending some time with Claire, he asked for strong coffee, and then shut himself up in his office.”

Greg sighed and shuffled some papers around on his desk. “I hate to say it, Ada, but that doesn’t really strike me as too odd for Mycroft. The man works constantly.”

“I know that. I live here and I have eyes.”

Greg could imagine the scowl he was receiving through the phone.

“Mycroft’s desire to continue working is not the issue. There is something more than that. He looked exhausted and he was quite pale, even for his complexion.” She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. “And it was obvious that he did not shave this morning, and we both know how out of the ordinary that is.”

Greg sucked in a sharp breath. That was definitely not good.

“Please, Greg, I’m concerned.”

His breath came whooshing out. She wasn’t the only one who was concerned, especially now. It took a lot to shake Ada’s resolve. He rubbed at the back of his neck and took stock of the amount of work he had remaining on his desk.

“Of course, yeah.  So am I. I have a few things I need to finish up at the office before I can get away, but I’ll be there soon. About an hour, provided I don’t hit any traffic.”

“I assume that if you are still at the office, you haven’t eaten anything more substantial than coffee and vending machine fare today?”

“Er…”

“And I thought I was hired to take care of the child, not the adults. You two are ridiculous. I’ll have something warmed up for you when you arrive.”

Greg chuckled weakly. “Thanks, Ada. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yes, you will.”

Greg rang off, and quickly added his statement and signature to the remaining forms on his desk. He wasn’t going to be able to get as much done as he had hoped.  Not while his mind was running rampant with worst-case scenarios involving Mycroft.

 

* * *

 

Ada pulled the door open and waved him in before he could ring the bell. It was obvious that she was watching for his arrival.

“I thought it best that he not be disturbed by the bell. I also don’t want Claire waking up and adding her chaos to the mix.” She took his coat and hung it in the closet..

Greg nodded as he followed her to the kitchen. “I understand. Probably best if I just go surprise Mycroft. Maybe catching him off guard will get him to start talking.”

“I did make up a tea tray, if you want.”

“Sounds like as good an excuse to interrupt him as any. Thanks.”

Once they reached the kitchen, and Ada loaded his arms with a tray of tea and biscuits, she paused, resting her hand on his forearm.

“Thank you for doing this, Greg. I realize it is an inconvenience. It’s just that I’ve not seen him like this.”

Greg adjusted the tray so he could balance it on one arm, and used the other to tug her into a small hug. “Ada, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. And it’s not an inconvenience at all. I want to help if I can.”

She nodded and patted his arm before moving to hold the door open. He offered her a small smile, and then turned down the hall toward Mycroft’s office.

Greg took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The sharp command of “come” did nothing to assuage the nerves he felt for interrupting Mycroft while he was handling god only knew what. He pushed the door open and came to a stop just inside the room. Ada was right. Mycroft looked like hell. He was so pale his skin had taken on a greyish pallor, and the dark circles under his eyes showed just how exhausted he was. The dark auburn stubble, that on any other day would have Greg thinking salacious thoughts, made him look disheveled in a way that Mycroft never was. It was no wonder Ada had called him.

“Gregory, what are you doing here? And why do you have tea, of all things?”

“Because a little bird told me you were home, and exhausted, and refusing to hear sense about getting rest. And tea is much better for you than coffee this late at night.”

Mycroft scowled at him and waved his hand toward the table near the wall. “Damnable woman, overstepping any sense of propriety. You may leave the tea over there. I have far too much work to do to take a cup right now.” Mycroft sniffed and jutted out his chin. “Work, you understand, concerning things that you do not have the security clearance to be involved in.”

Greg bit back his less than supportive retort and set the tray down. He poured two cups, and set one down in front of Mycroft with slightly more force than necessary.

“It’s not going to work, you know.” Greg blew lightly on his tea as he stepped around to Mycroft’s side of the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his ankles.

This time, Mycroft didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop before responding. “And what would that be, Gregory?”

“You pushing me away by being rude. You forget, I work with your brother. I’m immune to Holmes rudeness. Especially when you’re not really trying.”

“And if I were to try? Would that get you to leave me be?”

“Nope.”

Mycroft sighed and shut his laptop slowly, resting his fingertips on it. He looked at Greg with complete impassivity. Somehow, for Greg, that was more intimidating than if he had just slammed it shut and started yelling. “Whatever it is you have come to say, say it, and then allow me to get back to doing my work.”

Greg set down the cup and crossed his arms over his chest, meeting Mycroft’s steely gaze with one of his own. “Tell me what happened, Mycroft. Whatever it is, you obviously need to get it off your chest. You can take whatever time you need to get it all out, but I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on.”

“Stop this nonsense, Gregory. I haven’t the time to deal with your need to psychoanalyze the situation. There is nothing I can tell you.”

“You can tell me enough, and you know it. I’m not going anywhere until you do. I’ll stand here all night and have a staring contest with you if I have to.”

The range of emotion that crossed Mycroft’s face in the next few moments was staggering. Anger, frustration, sadness, exhaustion. Greg knew he had won the first round when Mycroft’s face settled on grim acceptance as he slumped back in his chair and dragged his hands over his face.

The man who emerged from behind those long fingers looked far older and more tired than Greg had ever seen him.

“It was meant to be a simple diplomatic meeting. A discussion of priorities to put forward in regard to a treaty. It was going to be time consuming, but fairly straightforward.”

Greg nodded.

“I was…unprepared…for the turn of events that occurred. Tempers flared, old grudges were reopened, and the situation dissolved rapidly. There was an incident.” There was a long pause. “Men...good men, were lost.”

Greg sighed and moved to stand directly in front of Mycroft, slotting their legs  together. “I’m sorry, Mycroft.”

“As am I.”

“Did you know the men who were killed?”

“Not personally, no. They were not on my staff, they reported to one of our allies. However, they were still my responsibility to protect as the strongest negotiator in the proceedings.”

Greg shook his head softly. “You can’t take all that on yourself, Mycroft. I’m sure that you did everything you could.”

“Obviously not. There are children who will now grow up without fathers. Wives who lost husbands. Mothers who lost sons.”

“I know. And nothing I say is going to make that less true. But I know you, Mycroft, and I know that you did everything in your power. Because that’s the type of man you are.”

Mycroft exhaled slowly through his nose as he closed his eyes and pressed his steepled fingertips to his lips. He was silent for several long moments. When he opened his eyes, they were full of pain.

“If I had had a few more moments, or an inkling that something like this might occur. If I had just said the right thing, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Mycroft…”

“I can’t stop thinking about them, Gregory. I’ve lost men before, but it’s never been like this. I keep thinking about the fact that their children can never know the real reason their fathers will not return home.” He sighed and dropped his hands down to his lap, before looking up at Greg beseechingly. “Why is it different now, with these men?”

Greg shook his head. “I don’t know, My. You ask yourself over and over again why you got to go home and they didn’t. When you know the person was stronger than you, or braver than you, or had more to live for.  And now that you’re a parent, these types of things hit even harder. Suddenly you can see yourself in their place and imagine what your own kid would go through if you were the one who didn’t come home.”

He reached out for Mycroft’s hands and smiled gently as those long fingers wrapped around his own.

“These are the ones that stick with you and remind you why it is you do what you do every day. The reason you work so hard. So that these kinds of days don’t come along too often.”

Mycroft nodded and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Greg’s stomach. Greg carded his hands through Mycroft’s hair as he relaxed against him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired in my life.” Mycroft mumbled.

“I know, My. Let’s get you up to bed, yeah?”

Mycroft nodded, and then stood slowly, gathering Greg into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered against his neck.

Greg leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips. “Always.”

It seemed that Mycroft’s confession had leeched the last bit of strength out of him and Greg found himself half dragging him toward the bedroom. Mycroft sat hunched on the bed with his eyes closed as Greg slowly removed his clothes, allowing his arms and legs to be manouevered into pyjamas,and then settled under the duvet. He sighed as his head hit the down pillows.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Greg climbed onto the bed next to him and kissed his forehead. “Of course. I’ll be here, you just rest.”

It only took a few minutes before Mycroft’s breaths grew deeper. Once Greg was sure that he was asleep, he quietly stood up and moved out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

He shuffled downstairs and found Ada still in the kitchen. Obviously Mycroft wasn’t the only one in the house that had worked himself into a state. The worktopss looked as though a bag of flour had exploded.

“What are you doing, Ada? It’s half eleven.”

Ada started and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, Greg, I didn’t hear you come down. Your dinner is in the warming drawer.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question.”

She glanced down at her flour covered hands as though she didn’t even realize they were in motion. “Oh, this? It’s nothing really. Just a start on some pastries for the morning.”

“Anything that can’t hold until tomorrow?”

“No,” she sighed, “I suppose they’ll keep until morning.”

“Good. Why don’t you clean that up, get yourself some tea, and join me while I eat.”

Ada nodded, and began to bustle around the room while Greg pulled a plate of baked pasta from the oven, searched around for a fork, and poured himself a glass of water. He settled into a chair at the kitchen table in the corner, and tucked into his delicious, albeit late, dinner.

“I assume Mycroft is well, considering your appetite doesn’t seem to be effected.”

Greg nodded as he swallowed a mouthful. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He took a sip of water. “Mycroft is okay. Things went tits up on his trip, and not everyone made it out alive. He felt like it was his fault.”

“Was it?”

Greg glanced up in surprise. Ada had asked the question impassively, but her eyes told a different story.

“Of course not. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling like he missed something. Must be hard, having a brain that keeps you a dozen steps ahead of everyone else…not a lot of room for comfort if things go wrong.”

Ada nodded and reached over to cover his hand with her own. “I’m glad he has you then, to remind him that he’s only human.”

Greg chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Reminding a Holmes of their humanity usually ends in shouting or gunshots.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that to myself, then.” Ada smiled and squeezed Greg’s hand. “Still, that man carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. I’m glad that you are here to help with some of that burden.”

“Me, too. Just think, given enough time, you and I might be able to get Mycroft and Sherlock both to act downright normal.”

“Unless medical science extends the human life expectancy substantially, I fear that you are setting us up for failure.”

Greg shrugged and gave her a small grin. “What can I say? I live in hope.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as Greg finished dinner and Ada sipped her tea. It was nice to just sit and allow the tension of the night fade. Though he would probably never admit it to anyone else, he was able to admit to himself that he was shaken by tonight. It wasn’t the fact that Mycroft was upset; he knew that wasn’t the first or the last time that Mycroft would allow his work to affect him on a deeply personal level. He knew that for all of his stoicism, Mycroft Holmes felt things deeply, and was fiercely protective of those who fell under his care.

What startled him was the wave of worry and dread that nearly overwhelmed him in the few moments that he thought there was something wrong with Mycroft or Claire. He knew that he was getting himself in deep, but didn’t realize just how hard he had fallen until that phone call. Not that it was a bad thing…it was just…surprising.

Greg was jolted out of his thoughts when Ada stood up and reached for his plate.

“It’s probably time for us to retire. Morning comes surprisingly quickly when one shares a house with Claire and Mycroft Holmes.”

“I should probably go, then.”

“Don’t be silly, Greg. Mycroft would have my head if I allowed you to go to an empty flat in the middle of the night.” She chuckled and gave him a wink. “Besides, he’ll likely be quite pleased when he wakes up and finds you in his bed.”

“You know, one day, that isn’t going to be as much fun for you. I’ll eventually stop blushing, and then where will you be?”

Ada patted his shoulder. “I’m sure by that point, you will have done something else ridiculous that I can use against you for my own amusement.”

“You’re lucky that you make such good food, or I’d be out of here. I don’t need this abuse.”

“Come now, you must be used to much worse. You work with Sherlock. By choice.”

““You’re a menace, Ada.” Greg laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You fit right in.”

Ada chuckled and patted his cheek. “Goodnight, Greg. And thank you.”

“Of course. Night, dear.”

By the time Greg made his way back to Mycroft’s bedroom, he was more than ready to climb into bed and wrap himself around his…boyfriend? Partner?  He shook his head, too tired to figure it out tonight.

Unfortunately, his game plan came to a screeching halt the moment he walked into the bedroom.  The sight that greeted him made him smile, even though it meant that he wasn’t going to get the have the night he had hoped for. Mycroft was just where he had left him, curled up on his right side, bundled under the duvet. Next to him, tucked in amongst the folds of the blanket, in the spot that Greg had been hoping to occupy, was a tumble of dark brown curls. He wasn’t sure if Mycroft had stirred when Claire snuck into the bedroom, or if she had managed not to wake him, but now he had his arm wrapped around her, and his chin resting against her head.

He wasn’t going to presume that Mycroft had told Claire about the nature of their relationship, so there was no way he was comfortable climbing into bed, even if it was big enough for all three of them. And he knew that Mycroft would have no problem with him taking one of the guest rooms, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d feel better if he kept an eye on Mycroft. It was entirely possible that Mycroft would have a nightmare, and that wasn’t something he should have to deal with alone. At least not if Greg could help it.

He sighed and he tugged off his tie before shrugging out of his jacket and draping both over the back of the armchair near the French doors. He toed off his shoes, and took stock of the chair that was going to be his makeshift bed for the night. It looked comfortable enough, and it was certainly better than those nights when he fell asleep at his desk. He settled down into the chair, kicked his feet up onto the ottoman, and crossed his ankles. He undid the top few buttons of his shirt, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Greg stretched and rolled his neck, keeping his eyes closed in the hope that he could fall back asleep. It wasn’t long before he gave it up for a lost cause. He opened his eyes, and saw Mycroft watching him with a soft smile as he carded his fingers through Claire’s curls.

“Morning,” Greg whispered with a smile that turned into a yawn.

“Good morning, Gregory.”

“Sleep all right?

“Yes.. However, I am a bit confused as to why you are sleeping in my chair.”

Greg rubbed his neck. “I didn’t want to leave you last night. You know, in case you had a nightmare or something.”

“I do appreciate that, Gregory, but that still doesn’t explain why you are sleeping in my chair rather than in my bed.”

“Because a grubby little street urchin stole my spot before I got done calming down your housekeeper.”

Mycroft chuckled and patted the empty spot beside Claire. “Join us?”

Greg stood up and winced, his back less than pleased with the sleeping arrangements. He climbed into the bed, on top of the covers, and rolled over to face Mycroft. Claire rolled over as well and buried her face into the pillows between the two men. She let out a snuffle and then a snore.

Mycroft reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers against the stubble on Greg’s cheek. “You could have slept in the bed last night, you know.”

“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what you’ve told Claire about us, and I didn’t want you to have to start your day facing uncomfortable questions from a curious kid. The chair was fine.”

“Hmm.” Mycroft looked unconvinced. “I must admit that I have not broached the subject with Claire yet.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

Mycroft was silent. The only sounds in the room were their breaths and Claire’s gentle snores. Greg tried hard not to fidget like a nervous teen.

Mycroft sighed. “You know, I deplore the word ‘boyfriend’. It is hardly acceptable for two middle-aged men. I prefer the term ‘partner’, I suppose, but it does have more serious connotations.”

Greg studied him and bit at his lower lip. “Do the ‘more serious connotations’ bother you?”

“No. My family and colleagues, at least those who matter, are aware of my preference…unlike yours. I would think that suddenly appearing with a male partner might be difficult for you to explain.”

“Nope. Not anymore at least.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

“Your brother outed me at a crime scene after the first night. And my family has known since I hit puberty.”

“So, not a problem then?”

“Not for me.”

“Well, then, I suppose that only leaves one more pressing issue to discuss.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Wow, has anyone ever told you that you are just an old romantic? I mean, nothing gets me all hot and bothered like you treating our relationship like a negotiation.”

“Gregory, please be serious. This is a subject that is of the utmost importance.”

“I know it’s important for God’s sake, but you’re making sound like a business transaction.”

“I simply want to be sure that you are coming into this relationship with the full breadth of information.”

“You’re just having a go, right? Seeing how far you can push before I give up the morning for a lost cause and head back to mine?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable about all of this.”

“Because if you don’t understand something, the next best thing is to ‘logic’ it to death.”

“You needn’t be petulant.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to be.”

Mycroft pressed his lips into a tight line, and reached out to grasp Greg’s forearm where it was perched on the pillow above Claire’s head. “Gregory, stop. For one moment, try to tamp down your instinctual indignation. I am not your ex-wife. I am not trying to push you away or make you at fault for anything. I am simply trying to preserve what little happiness I have been able to bring to Claire.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Mycroft opened his mouth, his response cut off when Claire grumbled at the sound of Greg’s raised voice. He waited until she rolled over and fell back asleep before continuing.

“It means that I cannot risk her happiness by being selfish.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He looked back over at Greg with resignation. “For so many years, I actively removed myself from any situation which might cause me to become emotionally attached to anyone or anything, save my immediate family. And I can say without any hesitation or self-delusion that I am not an easy man to care for. I’m cold, aloof, unyielding, and most would argue, far too pretentious for my own good. And yet, here you are. Despite everything you know of me, you still choose to share my bed and my life.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you are trying to convince me that’s a bad thing?”

“If it were just me, I wouldn’t even attempt to dissuade you. I’m far too selfish to argue for your self-preservation if you were not keen enough to see the danger. But, this situation no longer effects just me. I know that you are a good man, Gregory, but even the most forthright and honorable of men do not necessarily want to be a parent. And that, my dear, is the crux of the issue. I never imagined myself as part of a duo, let alone be considering the role of a third person in my sphere.”

“All of this, to ask me whether I’m okay with the fact that you and Claire come as a packaged deal? Did you forget that I was the one who encouraged you to take her in the first place? My god, that big brain of yours really doesn’t function well before coffee, does it?”

“Gregory…”

“Look, Mycroft, I understand, yeah? You’re not going to get serious with a bloke who isn’t on board with the fact that you have a kid. I’d be the same way. But it’s not like I’m just finding out about her or something. I’ve known since the beginning that this is a two for one sort of a thing.”

Mycroft gave him a small smile. “It has been my experience that the concept of parenting is far removed from the actuality of the situation.”

Greg grinned. “No kidding, genius.”

“Before you get too cocksure, might I remind you that, in this situation, the individual with the actual parenting experience is not you?”

“Touché.”

Mycroft chuckled softly and reached out to run his fingers through the hair at Greg’s temple. Greg stayed still, keeping his expression calm and open as Mycroft’s gaze searched his features, seeking out the answers to questions that hadn’t been spoken.  After a long while, he smiled.

“Thank you Gregory, I cannot tell you how much your acceptance means to me.”

“So that’s it then? Read all the answers to the mysteries of the world in my face?”

“I think you overestimate your prophetic powers, my dear.”

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying. Especially when his partner tries to talk them into and then out of a relationship before he’s even allowed to get a word in.”

“Apologies.”

“So, is that what we’re calling ourselves now? Partners?”

Mycroft smiled and cupped Greg’s cheek. “If you’ll have me. If you’ll have us.”

Greg smiled and pressed a kiss onto the inside of Mycroft’s wrist. “Of course, I’ll have you. You and the bed stealing urchin.”

As Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, a drowsy voice mumbled, “Can you just kiss and then be quiet? I’m still sleepy.”

Mycroft looked down to see Claire frowning up at them. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaning over and kissing Greg.

Claire took Greg’s hand and placed it into Mycroft’s, interlacing their fingers, before pulling them to rest on her stomach. She looked between them and the squirmed back into the pillows, shutting her eyes.

“Good job. Now go back to sleep.”

Greg settled down onto his back, and tucked his free hand behind his head. As he watched the play of light across the ceiling, he rubbed his thumb across the back of Mycroft’s in a slow rhythm, fully aware that neither of them intended to fall back asleep. Once he was certain that Claire had dozed off, he turned his head toward Mycroft.

“What’s on for today, then?”

Mycroft closed his eyes with a sigh. “I have to go in to the office to try and contain the fallout from the trip.”

Greg nodded and squeezed his hand.

“Once I return home, I face the grim spectre of a ‘surprise visit’ from Child Services.”

“I reckon you’re not supposed to know about that.”

“As though they stood a chance of actually surprising me.”

“Best not to mention that to them.”

“Indeed. Mid-level bureaucrats do get quite testy when they are denied their delusions of grandeur. I do so hate to be rude.”

“Of course you do.”

 

* * *

 

The conversation, which Mycroft had begun in his office while packing his briefcase, continued on uninterrupted as he slid into his waiting car. After seeing Claire sorted for school, and dropping Gregory off at the Yard, his day had comprised an additional ten grueling hours of negotiations, and showed no signs of abating any time soon. It was one of the few times he was grateful for the ever-present London traffic, as it would give him time to wrap up his call so that he could spend at least part of his evening with Claire, before retiring to his home office to revise his notes for tomorrow’s round of discussions.

He was just ringing off as the car pulled to the kerb outside his door. He wished his driver a pleasant evening, and walked towards his door.

“Mr. Holmes! So pleased to have caught you at home!”

Mycroft paused, quickly calculating the likelihood of his reaching the front door before being trapped in an unwanted conversation. Not liking the odds, he turned to address her.

“Ah, Ms. Wilcox, I had…” he paused, catching himself before he said ‘forgotten you were coming’, “…doubted if we would ever be on the receiving end of a surprise visit from Child Services.”

She chuckled. “Well, we’ve all been a bit busy lately, and most carers are never really thrilled when our lot just pop up unannounced, so I thought I’d give you a bit of a reprieve.”

“And now, am I to understand that my number has been summarily called?”

“No rest for the weary, I’m afraid.”

“Such is my burden to bear, I suppose.” Mycroft offered a thin smile. “Please do come inside. Claire should be bathed and clothed for bed by now, and I generally read to her a bit before she goes to bed.”

“Not a bad way to round out the evening, though I must admit, I’m a bit jealous. My little ones have never been ones to settle down quietly. Our nighttime routine is chaos more often than not.”

Mycroft opened the door, holding it open for Ms. Wilcox to step through. He fought the urge to roll his eyes behind her back. “Well, of course, it would be much more challenging with several children. Luckily for all involved, Claire is a creature of habit and prefers routine.”

He was cut off by a shriek, and two sets of footsteps thundering toward the foyer, one light and quick and the other slower and sounding much more frustrated.

“What the devil?” Mycroft stepped quickly around his guest to investigate, only to have Claire crash into his legs, then skitter behind him. A wet, vaguely sudsy, extremely naked Claire. Who was giggling. And covered in traces of glitter.

Ada stormed into the room, towel in hand, and mouth open in preparation of an epic scolding, when she came up short at her employer’s shocked expression.

“Oh dear, Mycroft. I was hoping you weren’t going to be home yet.” She darted forward to try to catch Claire’s arm, only to have her quarry dart to the left, keeping Mycroft between them as a barrier.

“I can only imagine that to be true, given what I can surmise about the state of the bathroom.”

Claire let out another ear-splitting shriek as Ada made another attempt to catch her, and wriggled between Mycroft’s legs, dashing away down the hall.

“Not to worry, sir. I’ll have it cleaned up, right as rain, as soon as I can catch the little monster.” Ada started down the hall. “And before you panic, I’ve already called the carpet cleaners and they assure me that the glitter will come right out of the rug in the study,” she called out over her shoulder. “They’ll be here tomorrow, along with the furniture restorer, who said that the glue shouldn’t do any lasting damage to your desk.”

Had he been a lesser man, Mycroft would have turned on his heel, and spent the rest of the evening in peace and solitude at the Diogenes. As it was, he took a deep breath before turning around to face Ms. Wilcox, who was doing a deplorable job at hiding a smirk behind her hand.

“Routines don’t always apply to five year-olds.”

“Evidently not.”

Mycroft could do nothing but roll his eyes when her restraint finally gave way and she started to laugh.

“Let us go into the lounge, Ms. Wilcox. It is sufficiently removed from the bath that we shouldn’t be interrupted again, at least until Claire is cleaned and clothed. Though, I must admit, I would have thought us safe in the foyer.”

“It’s amazing how quick they can be when they are trying to get out of bath time.”

“Indeed. Might I offer you something to drink?”

“No, nothing for me. Hopefully this will just be a short interruption to your evening. So, Mr. Holmes, how are you getting on with Claire?”

“Aside from tonight’s unusual circumstances, we have settled in quite well, and enjoy each other’s company.”

“I imagine it’s been quite a transition for you? It’s not easy being a single father.”

“While I am admirably navigating through these new waters. I’ll not deny that there was a period of adjustment, but a new equilibrium has been reached.”

Ms. Wilcox offered a bland smile. “Mr. Holmes, you are aware that I’ve been in my position for nearly fifteen years, yes?”

Mycroft inclined his head with a slight frown. “My assistant supplied me with a brief dossier before I met with you to establish myself as Claire’s guardian.”

“And after fifteen years, would you say that I’m at least competent at my job?”

“Of course.”

“So, you do understand that I’ve seen most everything before. I know how these types of situations go.”

“What exactly are you implying, Ms. Wilcox?”

“I’m implying that you are, if you’ll pardon the expression, full of shite.”

Mycroft looked up sharply and narrowed his eyes. For her part, Ms. Wilcox just sat there allowing him to assess her without fidgeting. He sighed and steepled his fingers.

“And what is it you would have me say?”

“You can say whatever you want, as long as it’s honest.”

“Would it please you to hear me say that I am exhausted? Or that I cannot fathom how individuals can manage to raise a child without having a staff of professionals at their beck and call? Would that better fit into your assessment of me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying that you would be pleased to learn that I question my ability to raise Claire on my own? That I wake up at night and find myself checking on her for no reason whatsoever, and that the thought of dealing with puberty is enough to make me run for the hills?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It means you’re trying, Mr. Holmes. And you realize that you don’t have the skillset necessary to deal with everything that you’ve taken on, but you are trying to muddle through as best you can.”

“I do not muddle.”

“All evidence to the contrary, of course.”

Mycroft scowled at her. “Do you think you are being amusing?”

“No, I’m being honest. And now, so are you.”

“Fine. I’m feeling woefully out of my depth, but I have not entertained the thought of giving Claire back for a moment. And I’m eternally grateful to my housekeeper for everything she has taken on in regards to both Claire and myself.”

“Good. That’s about where I had hoped you’d be by now.”

Whatever response Mycroft was about to say was cut off when a freshly bathed Claire came bounding into the room and crawled up onto his lap.

She squirmed around to face him, and blinked up at him. “I’m supposed to say I’m sorry.”

“What is it that you are sorry for?”

“For not listening to Ms. Ada when she told me I couldn’t play in your room with the big desk.” She bit her lip and looked at her fingers, which were fidgeting with his tie. “And for spilling glue. And glitter. And then running away and hiding. And then not taking a bath like a good girl.”

“And are you sorry for those things, Claire?”

Claire nodded, her little lip quivering slightly.

“Then you are forgiven, of course.” Mycroft kissed her forehead. “But you mustn’t do that again, and you must try your hardest to listen to Ada when she tells you something. It is her job to keep you safe, and see to the running of the household. Do you understand, bijou?”

Claire nodded again.

“Good. Then enough of that. Say hello to our guest.”

Claire turned and looked over at Ms. Wilcox. “I remember you.”

“Hello, Claire. I’m glad you remember me. I remember you, too.”

“Are you here to take me away?”

Ms. Wilcox glanced up at Mycroft. “Of course not, darling. I’m just here to see how you are doing, and if you like living here.”

Claire nodded before turning back to Mycroft.

“Can I still stay here?”

Mycroft’s brows furrowed in concern, and he cupped her cheek. “Of course you can. Why would you think that you couldn’t stay?”

“Because maybe you’re angry about the glitter and want me to go away because I didn’t listen to Ms. Ada.”

“Claire, do you remember the first night you came here? I promised you that you could stay here with me as long as you wanted to. Do you remember?”

Claire nodded.

“Nothing is going to change that, especially not a little glitter.”

“It was a more than a little.”

“No amount of glitter is going to make me change my mind.”

“It was lots and lots of glitter.”

Ms. Wilcox started to chuckle, and Mycroft found himself joining in.

“I think we’ll survive. Do you still want to live here, Claire?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good. Because I would be very sad if you left.”

“Me, too.”

“Well then, it’s settled. Is it not, Ms. Wilcox?”

She smiled and gathered her purse. “I think everything is going just fine, Mr. Holmes. I’ll put in a positive report, and be in touch in a few weeks for a follow-up visit.” She stood up and reached to shake his hand. “Have a pleasant evening, I’ll show myself out.”

Mycroft stood, Claire in his arms, and walked her to the hallway, where Ada was waiting to escort her to the door.

“Thank you, Ms. Wilcox. I appreciate your candor.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Thank you for your time. Have a good night, Claire.”

Claire waved as she left, and then turned back to Mycroft.

“It really was a lot of glitter. It went everywhere. Like a big, sparkly pink cloud.”

Mycroft sighed and hitched her up on his hip with a smile. “Come with me, you tiny terror, it’s time for bed.”

“Which means there are pirates to read about.”

“Precisely.”

 

* * *

 

Anthea was sound asleep when her mobile began to ring. She groaned as she pulled away from her husband’s warm arms and scrambled to accept the call.

“Mycroft, it is nearly half two in the morning. And as of eight o’clock yesterday evening, I have the weekend off. So unless the civilized world as we know it is crumbling into ruin, I’m hanging up.”

“Apologies, Anthea. But I do have a rather pressing concern, and I was hoping you might be able to assist.”

“This had better be good, Mycroft. And you owe me an hour of overtime pay for simply picking up the phone.”

“My goodness, you certainly are surly. One would think that you were not accustomed to long hours or unusual sleep schedules.”

“You have three seconds to get to the point before I hang up and go back to sleep.”

“How do you remove glitter from wool? And one’s bath? And one’s hair?”

“Are you having a stroke, sir? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“Of course not!”

“Do I need to tell Greg that you’ve been having it off with a stripper?”

“Oh, for god’s sake! I’m asking you a serious question, and you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

She could practically feel his scowl through the phone.

“It was a perfectly legitimate question to ask when one’s employer calls in the middle of the night asking for glitter removal tips.”

She heard Mycroft take a deep, steadying breath before he spoke again.

“Claire was tasked with making an art project for school, and her teacher, who will be hearing from me come Monday morning, thought it a good idea to arm five year-olds with glitter. Which she then spilled in my study. And glued to my desk. And now, in a manner that defies both gravity and physics, It. Is. Everywhere.”

“And you thought I would know how to get rid of it? Is there something in my CV that makes it seem like I have experience dealing with children or glitter, sir? Is that something you think they taught at MI6 after you went through?”

“You are a woman of innumerable talents, Anthea, and I learned long ago never to underestimate you.”

“Flattering, but I wish you had learned not to call me in the middle of the night for stupid reasons instead.”

“If you can give me a solution that rids me of this plague, I will give you a week’s holiday.”

“Feeling dramatic tonight, are we, sir?”

“Desperate times, my dear.”

“As much as I’d enjoy another week of holiday, aside for a thorough cleaning, there’s not much to do but wait it out.”

“Wait it out?”

“Eventually, any bits left over after a good hoovering, will either get tracked outdoors, or work themselves so deeply into the nooks and crannies around the house that they won't see light of day again.”

“You’re suggesting that I try to maintain my position, and my dignity, despite the fact that I will be adorned with bright pink glitter for the foreseeable future?”

Anthea ruthlessly quashed the fit of giggles that was threatening to bubble up. “I hardly think we’re discussing the fall of the British Empire here, sir. Perhaps you could start a new trend?”

“Why do I continue to pay you?”

“Because you know that if you called Greg, or anyone else for that matter, they would have already laughed you off the phone.”

Mycroft groaned. “I hate you. And I’ll begin interviewing for your replacement immediately.”

“Best of luck, sir. Be sure to vet them thoroughly concerning their skill in dealing with unconventional terrorist threats. Particularly, Primary school teachers.”

“Goodnight, Anthea.”

“’Night, Mycroft.”

Anthea rung off and burst into giggles, waking Kjell, who blinked at her from his side of the bed.

“What’s going on, kjære? Were you on the phone? What’s so funny?”

“The British Government has been bested by glitter.”

“What?”

“Never mind, I’ll explain in the morning. Go back to sleep.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations, exciting times, and drama

Mycroft stood at his office window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down on the streets of London while the general populous scurried about in their morning commute. He and Anthea had already been at the office for the better part of three hours. He turned when she re-entered his office and handed him the file he requested.

“Thank you, Anthea.”

“Of course, sir. Also, Detective Inspector Lestrade is here. He said he needs to speak with you before going into the office today.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in surprise and reached for his pocket watch. He sighed loudly when he pulled his fingers from his waistcoat to reveal not only his watch, but a small handful of pink glitter.

Anthea made a strangled sound as she choked back a laugh. 

“Not a word, Anthea.”

She cleared her throat in an effort to stop giggling.

“Haven’t worn that suit since the Great Glitter Incident of 2015, have you, sir?”

“Your impertinence is not at all endearing, you know.”

“No, but you and I both know that I’m safe from your wrath. Not only do I have an incredible amount of blackmail material, I also have your mother’s telephone number, and I’m not above using it. Not to mention that I handle all of the mundane details of your life.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked into the en suite to wash his hands. “Please show Gregory in, and do refrain from plotting my downfall until you reach your own office.”

“Of course, sir. You have twenty minutes until your next meeting, and I’ll send the Detective Inspector in with tea.”

Mycroft was back at his desk reading a report when Greg came through, carrying a tea tray, complete with Mycroft’s favourite biscuits. An apology from Anthea, no doubt.

“Good morning, Gregory. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Greg set the tray down on Mycroft’s desk and leaned across to give him a small peck. “Can’t I just want to see you?”

“Of course you may.”

“But…” Greg prompted.

“But nothing. I’m pleased to see you, especially since you are going to be tied up with the trial for the foreseeable future.”

“You know about the trial?”

Mycroft gave him a look.

“Right. Of course, you know about the trial. Have a hand in it do you?”

“Why would I have a hand in a murder trial?”

“Because those sticky little fingers of yours find themselves in all sorts of places they don’t belong.”

Mycroft smirked. “If memory serves, you certainly didn’t mind my fingers last night.”

Greg blushed and tried to redirect the conversation into safer waters. “So…the trial?” 

“You’re dressed for court.”

Greg groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh, that one was even obvious and I missed it.”

Mycroft chuckled and sipped his tea while Greg busied himself with making his own cup. Greg sat himself in front of Mycroft’s desk and nibbled on a biscuit, pointedly avoiding eye contact until Mycroft sighed softly and set his own cup on the desk.

“What is it, Gregory?”

“What is what?”

“Whatever it is that you came here to say.”

“You know I hate it when you do that.”

“I am aware. But there is, apparently, a previously unknown limit to the number of times I can watch you  _ almost  _ begin a sentence. You’ve been attempting to start a particular conversation for two days, and it pains me to think that you are that unsure of yourself, of me, or of our relationship.”

“That’s not it.” 

“Then why are you prevaricating?”

Greg let out a frustrated growl and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Because there is no way that I can ask you what I want to ask you and not have you think it’s a big deal.”

“Is it a big deal?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t know! It has…connotations.”

“So, it involves an important milestone in our relationship, then?”

“Mycroft…”

“Yes, yes, I know. You don’t appreciate it when I deduce the conversation before you have given it breath. But frankly, at this point, I refuse to spend several more days watching you squirm when we can just have it out right now.”

“I thought you liked making me squirm,” Greg retorted with a smirk.

“Wrong context, Gregory.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You’re dissembling.”

“Alright, clever clogs, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking then, since you are so keen on getting answers.”

“No.”

“Why not? Can’t figure it out? The great Mycroft Holmes not quite so omniscient as he thinks?”

“Hardly.”

“Then why not?”

“Because I’d rather not row. You were already feeling on edge with the trial, and now you’re annoyed. It would be a strategic misstep if I were to continue down that path.”

“Our conversations involve strategy?”

“Occasionally. They do when I have a particular endgame in sight.”

“Which is?”

“Revisiting the conversation about making you squirm. Though I intend to place it in the proper context when we reconvene on the subject.”

“Cheeky.”

“I have my moments. However, do not think for a moment that a saucy wink is going to distract me from the fact that you are still avoiding the original conversation. Or lack thereof.”

Greg groaned and plunked his head down in his hands. He looked up when he felt Mycroft cover his hand with his own.

“Please, Gregory?”

“Fine. Just promise that you won’t have some kind of crisis about this, okay? I mean, I know it sounds like a big deal, but it isn’t. I mean, it is. Obviously. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“You haven’t even told me the subject matter yet. How can I possibly be thinking anything?”

“Because you’re you. You’re always thinking something.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and muttered, “I’ll give you one guess as to what I’m thinking right now.”

“Oi!”

“Just tell me!”

“Fine! Do you and Claire want to meet my family? Because I’ve told them about you, and they’re keen on meeting you. My brothers want to give you the shovel talk, because that’s just how they are. You don’t have to worry about them, though, it’s my sisters that are the real threat. Those two have an unholy alliance if they think that someone in the family has been wronged.  I mean, I’m sure they’ll love you, but they tend to be a bit slow to warm up to new people. Bloody little bulldogs…”

“Gregory, calm yourself. You’ve already got me defending myself against your family for relationship foibles I haven’t even committed yet.”

Greg blinked rapidly a few times, and then sighed.“Sorry…”

“You’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“You know you can say no, right? I mean, this is what I was saying. It sounds like a big deal, but it isn’t. You’ll meet them eventually. At least I hope you will. It’s fine. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Do you want me to say no?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not particularly, but it seems as though you’d be more comfortable if I did.”

“No! I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want you to come. It’s just...there’s a ton of them and they can be overwhelming.”

Mycroft looked skeptical. “More overwhelming than Sherlock? Or my mother? If you want to discuss an unholy alliance, I rather think my family has yours beat.”

Greg snorted. “So, we’re doing this then? The whole ‘meet the family’ thing?”

“If you’d like Claire and I to spend time with your family, we would be honored. We simply have to work out a schedule.” 

“There’s a schedule?”

“There will have to be. You well know that my life, such as it is, is scheduled nearly to the minute. If you want me to have uninterrupted time with you, it’s best to give Anthea enough time to plan accordingly. And my mother will need to be informed.”

“Your mother?”

“Unfortunately. I am rather loath to incur her wrath so soon after she found out about Claire in a less than optimal manner.”

“And why would meeting my family be a cause for wrath?”

“It will be if she is not afforded the same opportunity to preside over a meal that doubles as an opportunity to interrogate you.” 

“That’s not what family meals are supposed to be about, My.”

“It is if you’re a Holmes.”

Greg sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to feel interrogated.”

“I’m sure I can endure it.”

“Damn it, Mycroft, it’s not about enduring anything!”

Greg tried not to bristle at the resulting eye roll, but it was a near thing. At least until Mycroft stood and leaned against his desk in front of Greg’s chair. 

“Gregory, I realize that you are nervous about my meeting your family.” When Greg opened his mouth to argue, he held up a placating hand. “Fine, not nervous, but somewhat apprehensive. I have no delusions about who I am and how I appear to others. I’m hardly the type of man most families would welcome into their midst. But, as you well know, I’m nothing if not a diplomat. I can assure you that I will do nothing to embarrass you in front of your family.”

“I’m not worried about you embarrassing me, you great clod!” He sighed, and tried again more softly. “I don’t want this to be something that you need to endure because of me. I want you to be excited, or at least somewhat enthusiastic about meeting them. Because they are important to me. And so are you and Claire.”

He reached out and put his hand on Mycroft’s arm where they were crossed in front of his chest.

“This is me putting my cards on the table, so to speak. Declaring myself, declaring us, to my family. I’m not embarrassed by you. It should be the other way ‘round because I know I don’t fit into your world. And no, close your mouth, I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not bothered by it. I don’t understand why you want me around, but you do, and I’m happy with that. Just… Please don’t do this if all you are doing is ‘enduring’ it.”

Mycroft shrugged Greg’s hand off his arm, but caught it as it slid away. 

“I didn’t intend to upset you, Gregory. You must know that social obligations are hardly my preferred milieu. You’ve met my family; how many traditional family dinners do you suppose we’ve had?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Come on, My, they’re not ogres.”

“Might I remind you that the last family dinner involved my brother drugging the lot of us, committing an act of high treason, and then ending the life of an extremely influential, albeit reprehensible, media magnate.”

Greg chuckled. “Okay, so not exactly traditional then.”

“Not precisely, no.”

“But you’ll come? If we figure out a schedule, and the world doesn’t need saving, you’ll come and not just endure?”

“As I’ve said several times, I would be honored.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“You’re still not going to get out of having dinner with my mother, Gregory.”

“I like your mother, My. I have no problem having dinner with your family.”

“You really have no sense of self-preservation, have you?”

“Not much, no.”

Mycroft leaned in and pressed a kiss to Greg’s lips. “I must say, I’m glad of that.”

Greg caught him by the back of the neck and pulled him forward into another kiss. A much less innocent kiss, which lasted for several long moments.

When Greg pulled back he chuckled as Mycroft stood blinking himself back online, colour high on his cheeks and the start of a bulge ruining the lines of his trousers.  

Greg gave him a wink once he was sure Mycroft was back with him. 

“So…”

“Dinner with our respective families as a declaration of our relationship?”

“Yup.”

“And there is no way to dissuade you? Perhaps I could distract you with a holiday instead?”

“Nope. Though, if you’re giving out holidays, I’ll take one of those too.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. And…thank you.”

“It is probably best to save your thanks until you can be assured of your family’s acceptance. Again, I’m hardly anyone’s first choice of companion.”

“You’re my first choice.”

“Considering your status as a divorcé, I beg to differ.”

“I didn’t know you when I got married, you stupid man.”

“Can you honestly say that I am someone you would have pursued me when you were in your twenties, Gregory?”

He sighed. “Fine, probably not. Happy now? You would’ve been so far out of my league back then, it wouldn’t have ever been an option. But if I had known you, you would have gotten me all hot and bothered with your posh suits and your public school accent. Which, as you’ll notice, still seems to work for me.”

“No matter how dashing you are, I refuse to ‘shag you over my desk’ as you so pointedly suggested last night.”

“Spoilsport.”

“One of us has to be an adult, Gregory.”

“That’s just another way of saying that you’re being boring.”

“…”

“Fine, fine, no shagging at the office. I get it. The great and powerful Holmes doesn’t give into naughty desires at work.”

“You know perfectly well that neither of us have time for…extracurricular activities…this morning.”

“Said the boring man in the posh suit.”

“Gregory…”

“Yeah, fine. I’m letting it go.” He grinned. “So, now that we’ve established that you’re just a big wet blanket, I have another question for you. Have you got new people following me? And don’t pretend for a minute that you don’t have anyone following me. I know better than that.”

Mycroft paused for a moment, before inclining his head. “I may have made a change to your security detail. It’s good practice for the newer members of the security team.  You tend to be an easier challenge than Sherlock.”

Greg chuckled. “He’s definitely the advanced course.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, you might want to tell the blond bloke to be more aware of reflective surfaces. Dead giveaway when you can see them in the window glass.”

Mycroft frowned. “I’ll make a note of it.” 

Greg tipped his head. “You okay? Not going to disappear the poor bloke just because I caught him out are you?”

“Of course not, I’m simply contemplating the changes we need to make to the training program.”

Greg drained the last of his tea and stood up. “Well, I’ve got to get to the courthouse. Try not to be too hard on him.”

“Best of luck on the trial, Gregory. Do let me know when you are free, Claire has been pestering me to let her cook dinner for you. And before you find yourself hiding from my calls, I promise to ensure that it will be edible.”

Greg chuckled and waved over his shoulder as he left the office. The door didn’t even have a chance to swing shut before Anthea was on her way in.

“Sir, you have approximately three minutes before the finance minister arrives, and the PM is on the phone, having yet another “crisis” that only you can solve.”

Mycroft waved away her words. “I’ll deal with him soon enough. Tell me... who is on Gregory’s security detail right now?”

Anthea paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “Gareth and Shah, as always.”

Mycroft frowned. “There’s been no one else, correct?”

“No one. Why? What’s wrong?” 

Mycroft took a deep breath and turned toward the window. “Nothing…yet. Please remind them to remain vigilant. Their duty is to ensure his safety, above all else.”

Anthea narrowed her eyes. “You’re not telling me something.”

“Gregory asked if I had a new man following him. We both know that Gareth and Shah would never be so sloppy as to be caught by their target.”

“Not one of ours, then?”

“No.” Mycroft’s voice had gone utterly cold and he turned back to face her. “Find out who he is, who he is working for, and make sure he is no longer an issue.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be sure to speak with the security detail.” She turned to leave, already typing quickly on her phone, undoubtedly relaying his directive.

“And Anthea…”

“Sir?”

“I intend to question the man myself. Please make sure that he is still able to speak after he is apprehended.”

Anthea paused and glanced back to him for a moment before nodding and hurrying out of the office.

 

* * *

 

Greg’s phone chirped with an incoming text as he walked down the stairs of the courthouse. It had been two grueling days in court, but they had gotten their conviction. He tugged at his tie and unbuttoned his collar as he reached for his phone.

_ I know you’ve just finished at court and are probably tired, but I would be most pleased if you would come by this evening.  _

Greg smiled and started typing his reply to Mycroft.

_ Love to. Can’t promise I’ll be up for much conversation, though. _

_ Conversation is unnecessary. I simply desire your presence.  _

_ Fair enough. Give me about an hour so I can go home, shower, and change clothes. _

_ You have one hour. Security has been informed. The door will be unlocked. Do show yourself in. _

Greg shook his as he tucked away his phone. He knew how much Mycroft hated to text, but it still made him laugh when you could actually feel his disdain if he was made to send more than one or two replies. His elegant wording always devolved into terse, short responses, that never quite became incomplete sentences, but it was a near thing. 

Sixty-eight minutes later, he was stood on Mycroft’s porch, giving the door two quick raps before turning the handle and letting himself in. He had barely hung up his coat before he was grabbed by the shoulders and slammed against the door.

Before Greg could even voice his displeasure at the rough handling, Mycroft smothered any protests by taking his lips in a ferocious kiss. Large hands caged his face as his mouth was invaded by a forceful tongue that swirled and twisted with his own. 

One of Mycroft’s hands slipped down to the buttons of his collar and flicked the top three open. He was finally able to draw in a much needed breath when Mycroft released his mouth and turned his attentions to dragging the collar of Greg’s vest aside. He moaned when Mycroft latched onto his newly exposed collarbone with a sharp bite and a toe-curling application of suction.

He clutched at Mycroft’s shoulders and panted. 

“Jesus, fuck, My…what’s gotten into you?”

“You. Are. Late.”

“Not even ten minutes…” he gasped weakly as he sagged against the door.

The only response he got was a low growl and another drag of teeth across his skin. He was going to have one hell of a mark there, come morning. His train of thought derailed when Mycroft surged up to meet his mouth again, this time accompanied by the full press of his body along Greg’s front. 

His knees nearly gave out when Mycroft rolled his hips forward in a slow grind. God, he loved it when Mycroft got like this. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there and let Mycroft simply  _ take _ .

Mycroft pulled away, leaving a stinging nip on Greg’s bottom lip. 

“God, Gregory…”

Greg licked a line up the long, gorgeous throat before him. “You are a bloody menace. We can’t do this here.”

Mycroft grabbed onto Greg’s arse and rolled his hips again. “We most certainly can.”

“Claire…Ada…”

“Claire is staying with Sherlock and Ada has the night off.”

“So, we’re…” Greg panted out as Mycroft returned to his neck, “just going to have it off in the hallway?”

Mycroft pulled away and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Objections?”

Greg bucked forward against Mycroft’s thigh, making him groan and grip him tighter. “God, no. Just trying to catch up.”

Mycroft leaned forward and pressed cheek to Greg’s. He could feel Mycroft’s hot breath gusting past his ear as they rocked against each other.

“Enough talk, Gregory. I’m sure you can apply your attentions to something much more important.”

“Oh, really? What’s that, then?” Greg goaded, pushing Mycroft back so he could turn the tables and take control of the next kiss.

Mycroft surged forward again, and pinned Greg against the door, unwilling to give him the upper hand. 

“I want you to fuck me. Here. Immediately.”

Greg’s jaw dropped, and he stood there blinking up at Mycroft, unable to find words through the sudden rush of heat that surged directly to his cock. It wasn’t until he felt Mycroft reach down into his pants and grip him firmly that he reacted. By gasping out a slightly strangled, “oh fuck, yes.”

Mycroft chuckled darkly and reached for his own flies. Greg batted his hands out of the way and shucked off Mycroft’s trousers and pants in one go, before spinning him around and pushing him against the wall.

It took every ounce of self-control not to go off as Mycroft pushed his glorious arse back toward him. The sight of the Mycroft's expensive shirt barely covering the curve of his arse as it met his thighs left Greg stunned with lust. An impatient huff from Mycroft jolted him out of his reverie.

“What do I need to do to make you follow simple directions?”

Greg glared back at the affront and dropped to his knees, parting Mycroft's arsecheeks with strong hands. He chuckled and pressed his tongue in without warning.    
  
Mycroft yelped and arched his back.

After several deep thrusts, Greg pulled back. “Not so high handed now, are you, Mycroft?”

“Oh God, Gregory, please…”

Greg chuckled again and bit into the meat of Mycroft’s arse, making him squirm away. He wrapped his hands around his hips and pulled him back, anchoring him in place while he returned to teasing and tormenting Mycroft with his tongue. 

By the time Greg pulled away again, Mycroft legs had begun to tremble and he was panting out great gusts of air. As Greg stood up, Mycroft hung his head between his arms and let out a whine.

“Why... Why did you stop?”

Greg pressed up against his back and dragged his still clothed groin roughly against Mycroft’s heated skin. “Because you asked me to fuck you, Mycroft. And I intend to do just that.”

Mycroft let out a shuddery breath that ended in a groan.

“You’ve got to focus though, My. I won’t take you without proper supplies. Where are they?”

Mycroft waved his left hand vaguely toward the Edwardian hall table.

Greg nodded and pulled open the drawer, finding a small bottle of lubricant and a single condom.

“Planning ahead, were you?”

“As I said, you were late,” Mycroft snarked.

“Good thing, too. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be fucking in your foyer.”

Mycroft shivered and flexed his fingers against the wall. “What we are doing is wasting time. I told you that we’d had enough talk. Get on with it.”

“And I told you that being a bossy bastard wasn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Whatever response Mycroft had intended turned into a gasp as Greg pressed a slicked finger into his arse  and twisted it around to nudge against his prostate. 

“Quickly, Gregory…oh god, please.”

Greg ran his palm along Mycroft’s back, gentling him. “Be patient, love, I’m not going to take a chance at hurting you.” 

Mycroft pressed back against his finger with a frustrated grunt.

“Mycroft…”

Mycroft gritted his teeth and pushed back again in a series of sharp thrusts. “I’m not made of glass. Get. On. With. It.”

Greg wrapped his free arm around Mycroft’s chest like a vise and pushed forward to press them tightly against the wall. “You don’t seem to understand, Mycroft. I’m in charge now, yeah? I’ll give you everything you want, but I’m doing it at my pace. Understand?”

Mycroft moaned and nodded.

“Say it.”

“I understand,” Mycroft panted.  “Your pace, Gregory.”

He was rewarded by the addition of another finger, and a sharp nip to the base of his neck. 

By the time Greg’s cock was finally seated fully inside him, Mycroft could no longer find a coherent sentence if his life depended on it. He was utterly, and completely at the mercy of his lover, who was wringing out gasps and moans with every thrust. 

“Gregory.... more… Oh god…”

Greg closed his eyes and tugged Mycroft’s hips back, forcing him to bend forward and brace himself against the wall. He quickened his pace despite the fact that his thighs and calves were burning with exertion. While fucking Mycroft Holmes against a wall did all sorts of things for his libido, it was going to be hell on his muscles in the morning.

Mycroft let out a choked off grunt when Greg’s new position hit his prostate with fierce accuracy. 

“Please, Gregory, please…close…ugh…close...”

Greg slid his hand forward clumsily and wrapped his fist around Mycroft’s cock. He pulled up, two, three quick tugs and Mycroft was crying out, spilling over his hand and the wall in front of them. It took only a few more thrusts, with Mycroft clenching around him, before he followed him over the edge.

He slumped against Mycroft’s back, breathing hard and blinking against the black spots in his vision. Mycroft braced them both up until Greg softened and slipped from his body with a soft grunt. Once free, Greg sank to his knees in a boneless heap and pulled Mycroft down with him. As they lay tangled together, with their trousers still around their ankles, Greg began to chuckle. And then laugh. Mycroft gave him a half-hearted scowl before dissolving into giggles himself.

“Bloody hell, My… the fuck just happened?” 

Mycroft looked at him and wheezed out, “Yes. That.” 

The look on Mycroft’s face, joyous and more than a little smug, sent Greg into another round of effervescent giggles. He flopped down onto his back, shoulders still shaking with laughter, and groaned.

“I can’t believe we just did that… That was amazing. I love that we just did that.”

“The laughing, or the fucking?”

“Both, you numpty.” Greg propped himself up on his elbows and cupped Mycroft’s cheek with his clean hand. “God, you’re gorgeous when you laugh, My.”

Mycroft flushed and pressed a kiss into his palm. “You’re biased.” He pulled away and wrinkled up his nose. “And sticky.” He stood up on unsteady legs, and reached out to pull Greg up. “Come on, off to the shower with us.”

“I suppose then we’ll have to come back here and clean up our…mess?”

“I guarantee you that I do not pay anyone on my staff enough to deal with that. I’d never be able to look them in the eye again.”

Greg chuckled and pressed a sloppy kiss to Mycroft’s jaw. “Fair enough, shower, clean up, and then dinner in bed?”

“Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Greg rolled over and groaned, pushing his face down into the pillow and flinging his arm out to feel for Mycroft. Who was already out of bed, even though only the first threads of morning light were peaking through the curtains. 

_ Because, of course he was. The British Government couldn’t be having a lie in, now could he? _

Greg shook his head at the uncharitable thought and pushed himself up. He smiled at the hot cup of tea on the bedside table, most likely made exactly the way he liked it. While he would have preferred to wake up with Mycroft’s warm, lithe body next to him, this was a pretty good consolation prize. He stood up, moaning at the burn in his thighs, and raised himself up on his toes, stretching his arms above his head.

He grinned.  _ Fucking against a wall, and still able to move the next morning. Not bad, old man. _

“Before you think of yourself too much as a sex machine, do be aware that tomorrow morning will be much worse than today.”

Greg turned quickly at the sound and bit back another groan. Judging by the smirk on Mycroft’s face, it was obvious. 

“Oi! No need to be a smug bastard. Let a man enjoy his spoils of war.”

He was met with an unimpressed arch of an eyebrow, which would have been far more effective without the mischievous twinkle in Mycroft’s eyes. Still, Greg took the time to appreciate that Mycroft was already more than half dressed in his bespoke finery, the charcoal pinstriped trousers hugging the curve of his arse, and his matching waistcoat showing just how trim his waist was. He looked downright edible in his shirtsleeves, and Greg fingers twitched with the desire to muss him. 

“A spoil of war, am I?”

“Of course you are. You’re the product of a long, strategic campaign that resulted in me getting you in exactly the position I wanted you in.”

“You know I don’t believe that, don’t you? The sound you made when I told you to fuck me was proof enough that you were out of your depth.”

Greg growled and grabbed Mycroft around the waist, jerking him forward and holding him tightly against his naked body. He grabbed Mycroft’s arse and squeezed, causing him let out a soft grunt.

“I wasn’t the one making all the noise last night, and you know it.” Greg rose up and nipped at Mycroft’s jaw.

Mycroft slumped against him, only for a moment, before straightening up and pushing a hand against Greg’s chest. His hand stroked down Greg’s sternum and Mycroft leaned forward and kissed him soundly. 

“Perhaps we can come to some sort of an accord about what to do with your ‘spoils of war’?”

Greg ran his hand down the cornflower silk tie that Mycroft had chosen for the day. “I plan on being a benevolent ruler.”

Mycroft smirked and pulled Greg in for another kiss. “I expect that it’s all just a ruse. We both know that the true power of your kingdom is in the hands of your second. The man in the shadows, who runs the world from his labyrinthine lair…”

“Feeling allegorical this morning, love?”

Mycroft laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Something like that.” He stepped away and turned Greg by the shoulders giving him a soft swat on the bum. “Drink your tea before it gets cold.”

Greg laughed and wiggled his arse, looking over his shoulder. “You sure you want me to be focusing my energy on tea?”

“Of course I don’t, but I have to go into the office, and I cannot have you distracting me any more than you already have.”

Greg picked up his tea and sat on the bed, letting his legs fall open a bit. 

“I’ve distracted you, have I?”

Mycroft forced himself to drag his gaze up to Greg’s eyes. He cleared his throat, and tugged at his sleeves before walking over to where his jacket was draped over the chair near the fireplace.

“Mycroft, don’t ignore the question…” Even though the room was still mostly dark, Greg was certain that he could see Mycroft blush.

“Let us just say that you aren’t the only one feeling the aftereffects of last night.”

Greg chuckled and puffed up his chest a bit.

“Sore, are we, love?”

Mycroft pulled on his jacket and deliberately avoided Greg’s eyes, but responded with more than enough petulance. “I am not ‘sore’, Gregory.” 

“But you can still feel it, can’t you? The way I felt inside of you?”

This time there was no question that Mycroft was blushing. The flush covered his face and journeyed below his collar. 

“Gloating is so uncouth, Gregory.”

Greg reached out and motioned Mycroft to come over to him. Once he was stood between Greg’s knees, he wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his forehead into Mycroft’s belly.

“Not gloating, My. Just loving the fact that every time you sit down today, you’ll be thinking of what we did last night. Thinking of me.”

Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, tugging gently and scratching at his scalp. “How can you be both an unrepentant bounder and a hopelessly romantic sod at the same time?”

Greg chuckled and looked up with a wink. “All part of the strategic campaign.”

Mycroft smiled and leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Take your time this morning, Gregory. You are welcome to stay as long as you want, though be forewarned that Ada and Claire will be returning around ten. While I’m sure that Claire would be thrilled to see you, Ada will surely find you an easy target for teasing today.”

Greg laughed and leaned back on the bed, giving Mycroft a good view of what he would be missing by going to the office. He knew that Mycroft wouldn’t stay, but it never hurt to give him incentive to finish up his work quickly. 

“I’ll lounge around for a bit, and then head out before they get here. No need to give Ada any more fodder than she already has. But, I’m free all weekend, in case you want to have another go.”

“You are incorrigible, Gregory.”

“One of my best qualities, wouldn’t you say?”

Mycroft gave him a look. “It’s not the one that leaps immediately to mind. You have so many other…qualities…that I find much more appealing.”

Greg winked and trailed his fingers up his thigh slowly, watching Mycroft bite at his lower lip before taking a shaky breath and turning to leave the room. Greg flopped back on the bed with a laugh.

It was tempting to let his fingers continue along their path, but if he was honest, the thought of sleeping in was more appealing than having a wank in Mycroft’s bed. Especially if Mycroft wasn’t there to enjoy it. 

He rolled over and tucked himself back under the covers and pulled Mycroft’s pillow up to his chest, reveling in the traces of his partner’s cologne, and the sheets that were softer than anything he could ever afford. It only took a few minutes for him drift off to sleep.

Greg woke up a few hours later when an alarm on his mobile began beeping. He smiled when he saw the text message that was waiting for him.

_ I hope you slept well, Gregory. I plan to be home at a reasonable time this evening. Perhaps you’ll join Claire and I for dinner? _

He quickly typed out his reply:

_ Sounds perfect. I’ll head back to mine for the day and be back by half six. _

He waited a few minutes to see if there was going to be a reply, and when one was not forthcoming, he wandered into the en suite for a shower. After a quick wash and dress, Greg was on his way out the door, intent on grabbing a cup of coffee before catching the Tube back to his flat.

It was a beautiful morning for a walk and he was thoroughly enjoying watching the city bustle around him. He stopped short as a child darted out in front of him from one of the shops, with his mother in hot pursuit. Just as he started forward again, he caught the reflection of a burly, blond man out of the corner of his eye.

He chuckled and shook his head. Mycroft was going to have a field day when he told him that his agent was still painfully unobservant of his own reflection. While he hated getting the bloke into trouble, it was obvious that acting as a tail was not within this man’s particular skillset.  Especially since he was now actively moving in toward Greg, without even bothering to appear nonchalant. 

Greg sped up when noticed two other suits coming behind the blond bloke. He could accept that one agent, who was new and untried, might slip up, but there was no way that he’d be able to identify three of Mycroft’s men unless they wanted him to. Unless they were more focused on a threat than they were on blending into the crowd. 

He was straddling the line between a fast walk and a jog as he reached into his jacket to retrieve his mobile. He needed to call Mycroft. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He was just able press Mycroft’s number on speed dial when he grabbed from behind; one heavily muscled arm wrapping over his shoulder and across his chest, and the other clamping a meaty hand over his mouth.

He tried to struggle, but the man who had him was far stronger than he was, and had him held in a way that the only thing he could really do was kick futilely. He heard a shout and then was bundled forward, the pavement coming up to meet him before he could prevent himself from falling.

  
The last thing he heard was his mobile clattering to the ground before his world went dark.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Greg's attack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently we have now come to season of cliffhangers...you've been warned.
> 
> And I also want to thank everyone who has kudoed and commented and stuck with my story! It means the world to me! And as always, I want to thank my wonderful beta, lyricalsoul, who makes me laugh and also makes me a better writer :-)

The first thing he was aware of when he woke up was a burning sensation in his shoulders. Bound then, and had been for several hours. He pushed down a flare of panic and focused on keeping his breathing slow and even. It wouldn’t do to let his captors know that he was conscious. Remain calm. Rely on your training. Assess the situation.

He was in a hard chair with a tall back, his arms pulled painfully around the back and tied with some sort of wire. His legs were similarly restrained and tied to the chair legs. Escape options were limited, at least at the moment. He wasn’t blindfolded or gagged, so it was obvious that whomever abducted him expected him to have some sort of information. Or wanted to hear him scream. 

“Your charade is unconvincing, and it’s quite obvious that you are conscious. You may as well open your eyes. ”

He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light as the room swam into focus. The fact that it took several moments for the blurred shapes to resolve into recognizable objects was a clear indication that he had been drugged. 

He was sat in the middle of a non-descript room, the only other piece of furniture was a chair near the door, in the shadows. The man that sat there was tall and lean, but hardly a threat. The same could not be said about the man standing next to him, however. That’s where the threat lay. He looked every bit the thug he was meant to appear. Dressed in black tactical gear that stretched taut around his biceps and across his chest, he watched with a sharp but ultimately bored expression. As though he did this sort of thing every day. Probably did. No-necked bastard.

Swallowing was difficult. His tongue felt swollen and he could taste blood. He must have bitten his tongue when he collapsed. Still, he worked it back and forth, trying to move some saliva into his mouth. He rolled his neck and squinted against the headache and muzzy feeling.

The seated man quirked his lips.

“You were seen at a state dinner last month. You were not on the guest list, but rather accompanied one of the dignitaries. You obviously harbor some romantic attachment to the individual, but you were careful not to make any overtures that could be considered unseemly.  You’ve never attended such events in the past. Tell me why you were there?” 

The question was polite enough, but there was no mistaking the casual threat behind the words. The glare he gave in response made the man arch an eyebrow before leaning back in his chair and slowly crossing his legs.

“No answer? Let’s try this then…” He paused to fold his hands and rest them on his knees. “Do you know who I am?”

“A posh twat in a suit with a power complex?”

The twat turned his head ever so slightly toward the brute in the corner, who took three quick strides forward and backhanded him across the face. There was no time to brace for the impact. He panted through the pain, blood dripping from his mouth onto his trousers as he tried to regain his equilibrium.

“Take that as a warning. I will not tolerate insults.”

He spat out a glob of blood. One more blow like that, and he’d be spitting out teeth as well. He looked up and met the other man’s gaze. “Fuck you. I’ve got nothing to say, you prissy little cock.” 

This time, No Neck didn’t even need the go-ahead, he just drove a fist into his stomach and followed it with an uppercut that threw the chair over backwards. He landed hard on his back, his wrists trapped painfully under the chair as he gasped for air. No Neck grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged the chair upright. 

Through his wheezing he heard the other man pipe up.

“I did warn you.”

He didn’t have enough oxygen for a response. Instead, he settled for spitting out another mouthful of blood and glaring at his captor.

The man leaned forward, drawing himself out of the shadows. Oh fuck…

He knew that face. And the man who bore it was no longer feeling merciful. Which meant that he was a dead man.

“If you answer my questions voluntarily, I just might let you live. Though I do hope you have a high tolerance for cold, as well as a…hobby. It took only four months for the last man I sent away to go mad. Quite dramatic, really; one day he just finally had enough. Ran out of the building in the nude. He collapsed after eight minutes, and was dead after twenty-two. Would you last longer, do you think?”

With nothing else to lose, he tried for stubborn bravado. “Piss off. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Oh, I think you will. You’ll find my staff to be very persuasive. Heavy handed, but persuasive. And surprisingly adroit at deciphering speech patterns of individuals with broken jaws.” 

He swallowed hard and glanced over at No Neck. He wouldn’t be able to stand much more of his brand of persuasion. 

"And if you tell me what I want to know, I will ensure the continued safety of your sister and your nephews." The man paused to let that sink in. "How safe do you think they'll be when your employer realizes that you've betrayed him, hmm? Because you will betray him...I intend to make sure of it."

He felt his world tilt and started to shake. “I wasn’t going to hurt him. Just bring him in, that’s all I was told to do.”

The man gave him unctuous smile, a parody of politeness. “And you believe that will spare you? Hardly. You’re even more of a fool than I’d wagered. Make no mistake, you are expendable. A means to an end. Nothing more than a blunt instrument, inexpertly wielded and easily replaced.

“You have two, and only two options in this scenario. Either you will tell me what I want to know and then never be heard from again, or you will die. Here. Today. In this very room. There will be no rescue, no escape, and no one to mourn or avenge you. You will simply cease to exist in one fashion or another.”

He looked quickly around the room, a last ditch attempt to find an escape. Nothing. No door except the one he was facing, and there was no getting out that way. He clenched his teeth despite the pain in his jaw. 

“I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything. I was just told to bring him in…that’s all. I was just looking to get paid.”

“A poor choice in employment, to be sure. Now, I’ll ask again, do you know who I am?”

He fought against the icy shudder that was trying to work itself up from his toes. If there was one thing his training had prepared him for it was to know when he was well and truly fucked.  It was hollow comfort to be able to identify it so readily.

He nodded. “If you spend enough time in this city you hear things. You know what’s what, even if no one has the details. You’re the ghost they all whisper about. The one behind the curtain, pushing all the buttons.”

“And what else do they whisper about me?”

“That you make people disappear. No trial, no jury, no body, no blood, just ‘poof’ and you’re gone.”

“It’s comforting to know that my reputation precedes me into the dank corners of London.”

“More like the corridors of Whitehall.”

He smiled slowly. “Even better. And while I appreciate that my identity has reached allegorical status, I find it uncouth to send a man to his death without knowing the name of the individual who dealt the final blow. Purely in a metaphorical sense, of course, as I have no intention of sullying my suit.”

The man rose to his feet. “My name,” he said as he stepped forward, buttoning his jacket and adjusting his cuffs, “is Mycroft Holmes. And you are going to pay very dearly for the grave mistake you made when you threatened Gregory Lestrade.” 

He bit his lip against the quivering that had started. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to start.

“Come now, it’s far too early in the proceedings to determine how much you’ll bleed before you disappear. We have so very many things to discuss before then. And the level of pain you experience before you are wiped from the annuls of history is entirely in your hands. Tell me what I want to know, and I may yet decide to be merciful and simply send you to fight your demons in the ice.” 

He strained one last time against his bonds before sinking down in defeat. He took a deep breath and looked up to meet the frigid stare of The Iceman. 

“Ask your questions, Mr. Holmes. I’ll tell you what I know.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Greg was aware of was the fact that his body felt extraordinarily heavy. He twitched his hand and felt the cool slide of leather under his fingertips. Leather, not concrete. That was a good sign. He took a slow, deep breath and scrunched his eyes against the dull throb between his temples.

“Come on, Greg, open your eyes so that the doctor can have a look at you.”

He frowned against the bright light as he pried his eyes open. There was an older man with thick, wire-framed glasses and a kind face sitting near his left shoulder, and Anthea stood just behind him. It appeared that he was in Mycroft’s office. The non-official one, where casual acquaintances and disliked politicians were shown to.

“Anth?” he mumbled, still feeling bit disoriented.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe. Unfortunately, our team couldn’t get to you before you were drugged. It will take a bit for it to wear off, and your shoulder and cheekbone are bruised, but you’ll survive.”

Greg tried to sit up, only to be pushed gently back onto  the sofa by the bloke he assumed to be the doctor. “Please lay still, Detective Inspector, you’re likely to be experiencing marked dizziness, and I’d prefer not to have to perform my examination after you’ve collapsed on the floor.”

The wave of nausea that hit him when he tried to nod had Greg gritting his teeth and sinking back down without a fight. Once the room stopped spinning, he blinked owlishly up at Anthea.

“What the fuck happened?”

Anthea gave the doctor a careful glance and then looked back at Greg. “Our team is handling it.” 

“ ’S that supposed to mean?”

She leveled a glare at him. “Our team is handling the situation, and you will be apprised of the details when it becomes necessary. Now, please hold still so that Dr. Abbott can finish his exam.”

Greg gave her a look that plainly said he was displeased at being brushed off, but he said nothing. The doctor bustled about for a few more minutes, checking his pulse, listening to his lungs, and checking his eyes before announcing that he was finished. 

“Now, please allow yourself to rest today, and be sure to drink plenty of water to stave off the dehydration that is an aftereffect of being drugged. Aside from the bruising, you should have no lasting concerns. Should you have any questions, or need to get in touch with me, Ms. Boyette has my contact information.”

Without another word, he gathered his things and made his way out of the office. Greg got the impression that the doctor was well versed in dealing with clandestine medical checks for people who were less than pleased to see him.

Greg waited until the door closed before he pushed himself up to a sitting position, taking deep breaths to fight against the ensuing wave of dizziness and nausea.

“You have about three seconds to tell me what the hell is going on, before I leave and figure it out myself.”

“A threat that would be much more impressive if you weren’t a such a delightful shade of green, Greg.”

“I’m bloody serious, Anthea. What happened?”

“There was a security breach. Our team is responding.”

Greg glared. “Which means precisely fuck all and you know it.”

“Greg, you know I can’t tell you the details.”

“Yes, you bloody well can! I’m the one who got drugged here…”

Anthea folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a matter of national security, which means I cannot tell you anything at this point.”

“So I get beat up and drugged into oblivion, and I’m supposed to just sit back and take it? Fuck, Anthea, you know that’s not right.”

“You knew that this scenario was possible when you started dating Mycroft.”

“Didn’t think it was going to actually happen.”

“Then you were being terribly naïve.”

Greg let out a frustrated huff and tried to stand up. He swayed on his feet as the room spun, and gave in easily when Anthea pushed him back down.

“Greg, please, you’re not going to help anyone if you pass out. Mycroft would have my head.”

“THEN TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!”

Greg tipped sharply as his vision began to tunnel and his ears began to ring. He blinked against the blackness and tried to take a breath. “Yelling… bad…bad idea… no more yelling.”

Anthea crouched down and steadied him, holding his shoulders until he was feeling more stable. She reached out for a glass of water that was sitting on the end table and pressed it into his hands.

“Drink that, you idiot. And stop trying to kill yourself.”

Greg took several small sips and leaned back into the cushions with a sigh. When Anthea moved to sit next to him, he put his hand on her forearm. “Please, just tell me. I don’t even need details, but I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Anthea sighed and slumped back. “There was a man following you. Not one of ours. We misjudged the situation, and he got closer to you than we expected. He managed to knock you out, but he didn’t get far before our men were on him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He is in custody.”

Greg snorted lightly. “I assume that we’re not talking Scotland Yard.”

“No, we are not.”

“So what now?”

“We stay here. We eat dinner. And we wait until we get word that the situation is resolved.”

“Does Mycroft know what happened?”

Anthea’s whole body stilled. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And he’s handling it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he is handling it. Personally.”

Greg scrubbed his hands over his face. “Shit.”

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

It was another three hours and one enormous Indian takeaway later, when Mycroft walked into the office. Greg looked up and took stock of his partner; he was in full Iceman mode, not a hint of the man behind the mask showing. He held himself rigidly, the way he did when he was fighting some deeper emotion.

Anthea stood and took the file from his hands with a nod and left the office. 

“Gregory, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” 

Mycroft walked over and reached out for Greg as he stood up. He held him at arm’s length and studied him, brushing his fingers lightly against the livid bruise that spilled across Greg’s cheek and hummed in annoyance.

“What’s going on, Mycroft?”

He ignored the question. “Are you still experiencing any dizziness? It seems your appetite has not suffered.”

Greg pressed his lips together in a tight line. 

“I will have a car take you back to your flat for tonight. Unfortunately, I will be here for several hours yet.”

“Mycroft…”

“Unless, of course, you’d rather not be alone. I’m sure Ada would not mind checking in on you if you’d like to go back to mine.”

“Mycroft, tell me what’s going on.”

Mycroft waved the question away as he walked over to the desk and opened a drawer. 

Greg crossed his arms, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. “You’re stalling. We both know you don’t keep anything of importance in that desk.”

Mycroft looked up at Greg coolly and slid the drawer shut, the motion slow and deliberate. 

“Tell me, Mycroft. I deserve an explanation.” 

Mycroft walked around the front of the desk and leaned back against it, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket and the other casually fishing out his pocket watch and glancing at the time. He snapped the case closed and looked at Greg.

“The individual who was following you is no longer a concern.”

Greg snorted without a trace of humor. “I gathered that. What did you do?”

“I am afraid that I cannot elaborate, Gregory. However, you may rest assured that the situation has been satisfactorily resolved.”

Greg growled and took a quick step forward but stopped at the sliver of dizziness the motion caused. “You’re not going to tell me? I’m the one who was being followed by a spook, and then taken to the ground by your security team, and all you are going to tell me is that it is ‘satisfactorily resolved’?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and tucked his watch away. “As I said.”

“And you’re not telling me who he was, or why he was following me, or where he went? I’m just supposed to forget about it and move on?” 

“It would be most appreciated.”

Greg glared. “What did you do, Mycroft?”

“As I said, I cannot elaborate.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest. “The latter.”

Greg dropped his arms and clenched his hands into fists. “Of course not. I’m just a lowly DI. No security clearance for me. Just keep bumbling along, Greg. Just keep taking care of Sherlock. Nothing to see here…” He flung his arm out and turned away. “I can’t fucking believe you!”

Mycroft was grateful that Greg’s back was turned, and therefore was unable to see him flinch at the motion. He took a deep breath and tried to moderate his tone. “Your security clearance, while certainly not high enough given the sensitivity of the information at hand, is not the reason for my reticence, Gregory. You know I think more highly of you than all that.”

Greg spun around. “Bullshit!”

“Gregory…”

“No, no. I get it. I do. I know exactly where I stand now. Well done, you.”

“Gregory, calm down.”

Greg clenched his teeth. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Mycroft.” He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, pointing a finger up toward Mycroft’s face, his body trembling with barely restrained anger. “You just love having all the answers and parsing out tidbits to the peasants like the bloody lord of the manor. You love being above all the rest of us. So high and mighty up there on your throne. I’m supposed to just blindly trust you, but you don’t trust me. ‘Course not. Don’t know what I was thinking. Stupid DI Lestrade, just there to entertain you like a fucking trained monkey.”

“ENOUGH!” Mycroft roared, stunning Greg into silence. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, marshalling his emotions. Once he regained his equilibrium, he began again. “I do trust you, Gregory. I trust you implicitly. It is not a matter of trust. But I cannot tell you what transpired here today. Please, don’t ask that of me.”

Greg glared. “Why not, then? And I’m warning you, Mycroft, you better have one hell of reason.”

Mycroft slumped back against the desk with a sigh. “Because if I did, I fear you would never look at me the same way again. The warmth and regard I see in your eyes would turn to disgust and then eventually to hatred. I… I cannot bear the thought of that.”

Greg froze, all of the fight draining out of him. “It’s that bad? Whatever happened and…and your role in it…it’s that bad?”

“Yes.”

Greg swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “And there was no other way?”

“No.”

“Could you have made a mistake? Gotten the wrong man? The wrong information?”

Mycroft smirked. “No.”

Greg slumped down in a nearby chair. “And I’m safe now?”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “As safe as it is in my power to make you.”

“And you? Claire?”

“Again, as safe as possible.” Mycroft sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, taking a moment to steady himself as the silence stretched out.

When the silence was finally broken, it was by a whisper. “Do you regret it?” 

Mycroft looked up at Greg, eyes hardened into a cold, implacable glare, and Greg felt a slow, icy tendril of fear lick up his spine.

“No. He threatened you. He threatened what we have, what we are building together. I needed to send a crystal clear demonstration to his employers that such actions are unacceptable and will be taken as a deadly provocation.”

Greg held his eyes for a long moment before shuddering. He took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the drink trolley in the corner.  “Right, then. I need a drink. You?”

“No, thank you, Gregory.”

Greg poured himself a large measure of scotch and gulped it back with a grimace. Mycroft nearly stopped him from pouring another, but thought better of it. He watched as Greg walked back to the couch and flopped down. When Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, Greg held up his hand to forestall him.

"No. Don't. I can't deal with any more right now. Just don't say anything."

Mycroft closed his mouth and frowned. He watched in silence as Greg seemed to fold in on himself and draw his hands up to cover his face, flinching when his palm bumped the bruise on his cheekbone. After several long minutes, Mycroft leaned back against his desk and sighed. 

Greg glanced  up.   “You okay?”

“No.” Mycroft took a deep breath and examined his hands before rubbing them together as though he was trying to wipe away a stain.

Greg came over to him, setting his drink on the desk near Mycroft’s hip. “Look at me, My.”

Mycroft didn’t look up until Greg clasped his shoulders.

“You’re a good man, Mycroft. No matter what happens, you are a good man. You protect us all, and I’m proud of that. Even if I don’t agree with the methods, I’m proud of that.”

Mycroft folded his hands together, squeezing until his knuckles were white. “I am not a good man, Gregory.”

“You are, My.”

“No. You are good man, Gregory. And I am not. And the only reason that men like you can exist in this world is because there are men like me who are willing to walk where good men fear to tread.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Mycroft, but if it is, then I’m glad there’s men like you.” He leaned in and kissed him gently. “But for the record, I never want to have to turn a blind eye to something like this again.”

“I did try to protect you from that.”

“I know you did, and I’m an idiot for not listening. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that the truth of this hurts you.”

Greg nodded and ran his hands down the lapels of Mycroft’s jacket. “I know.”

“I hate that I have to ask this question, but where does this leave us?”

“It leaves you stuck here working, and me going back to yours and trying to stay awake until you get home. Maybe I’ll teach Ada how to play poker.”

Mycroft smirked slightly. “She already knows and she’ll happily take every bit of money you have on your person.”

Greg shrugged. “Might still do. Sounds like a good distraction.”

“And when I’m able to return home…” Mycroft fidgeted and swallowed hard, “will I find you in the guest room, or in mine?”

“Yours.” Greg gave him a wan smile. “I may not always agree with you, or with what you do, but I’m not going to leave you to deal with it alone. You’re not alone anymore.”

Mycroft pulled him into a hug and tucked his head into the curve of Greg’s neck. There was nothing to say, and even if there were, he didn’t think he would be able to find the words. Instead, he just stood there, breathing in the scent of his lover, and holding him tightly against his chest.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Anthea walked through carrying an armload of files. Greg pulled away slowly and kissed Mycroft’s forehead. “I’ll see you later, love. Do what you need to do.”

Mycroft stood tall and smoothed down his waistcoat, visibly pulling himself together. “Do try not to lose all of your money to my daughter’s nanny. And please take something for your headache.”

Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked towards the door. 

“Gregory…”

He paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Greg smiled. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

Greg woke up to the sound of the shower. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the light spilling out from under the bathroom door for a few moments before rolling over and glancing at the clock. Nearly five in the morning. He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. It was far too early to be awake. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening woke him with a jolt. Mycroft emerged from the en suite with a towel wrapped around his waist, heading toward the dresser.

“What are you doing up this early, My?” Greg mumbled, fighting to push the blankets off his head.

Mycroft chuckled. “I find it endearing that you are so uncoordinated when you wake up.”

“Shut up. Not funny.” Greg sat up and scratched his fingers through his hair. “What time did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Mycroft dropped the towel to pull on a pair of pants. “I got in about fifteen minutes ago.” He rummaged through his drawer and pulled out a pair of dress socks and then walked over to the closet.

“Then why are you getting dressed? Come to bed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Gregory, tempting as it is. I came home simply to shower and to pack a bag.”

“What? Why? Where are you going?”

“I’m returning to the office, but will be indisposed for the next several days.”

“So why do you need a bag?”

“I may be leaving the country. It’s too soon to tell.”

Greg groaned and flopped back into the pillows. “Jesus, Mycroft, really?”

Mycroft stepped out wearing a dark suit and doing up his tie.

“Unfortunately. The situation from yesterday is proving to be more complex than initially expected, and, as you can imagine, I intend to see it through to its conclusion.”

“When will you be back?”

Mycroft sat at the foot of the bed and leaned down to tie his shoes. “I do not know. As soon as is feasible.” 

Greg crawled over to him and draped himself over Mycroft’s back. He kissed the side of Mycroft’s neck, just above the collar. “Take care of yourself, My. Be safe.”

Mycroft patted the arm that Greg had slung across his chest. “I’ll do my best. Now go back to sleep.” 

Greg kissed him again, this time on the lips, before crawling back down under the duvet. “Call me if you can, yeah?”

“If I’m able, I will.” Mycroft leaned down and pressed a kiss to Greg’s forehead. “Rest well, Gregory.

Greg watched Mycroft leave the room and sighed. While he understood that Mycroft’s position would take him away more often than either of them wanted, trips like this bothered him. He knew that Mycroft was walking into a dangerous situation, regardless of the reassurances that he would be safe. And sitting around waiting for him to come home, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to influence the situation was maddening. 

Mycroft walked in silence down the hallway toward Claire’s room. He pushed the door open slowly and smiled at the riot of curls that poked up above her blankets. He couldn’t understand how both she and Gregory found it comfortable to have their head buried under the duvet, but every time he tried to fold back the covers, they grumbled and swatted at him. 

He stepped into the room and walked over to bed, uncovering Claire’s face just enough to press a kiss to her forehead. She felt particularly warm, which, he supposed, was unsurprising given her preferred sleeping position. She snuffled softly and wriggled back down under the duvet. 

“I love you, Claire,” he whispered before turning to leave. 

 

* * *

 

John looked up from his computer when Sherlock’s mobile rang. He sighed when Sherlock never even looked away from his microscope.

“Oi, Sherlock! Your mobile’s ringing.”

Sherlock flicked his hand at John in annoyance.

The mobile rang again.

“Sherlock, answer your damn phone!”

“It’s probably just Mycroft. He’s been gone for two days, undoubtedly he feels the need to meddle.”

Another ring.

“Sherlock…”

“If it’s so important to you, John, you’re perfectly capable of answering it yourself.”

“It’s in your pocket, you berk!”

John didn’t flinch as the still ringing mobile came flying at him from the kitchen. He caught it and glanced at the number as he answered. He didn’t recognize the number. Sherlock was probably right, it likely was Mycroft.

“Hello, Sherlock Holmes’ phone… I’m sorry, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I’m his flatmate. Is there something I can help you with?”

John paused. “I’m sorry, he’s her what?” 

Sherlock glanced over when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. John had stood abruptly and was moving toward the door.

“I see. How long?” John was speaking in that clipped, tense way of his that only happened when he was experiencing a rush of adrenalin.  Sherlock stood up and walked into the sitting room. John was shrugging into his coat. “We’re on our way. We’ll meet you at the A and E.”

Sherlock caught his coat with a frown as John flung it toward him. “What’s going on?” he asked as he automatically flipped the coat collar upward.

“Your brother made you Claire’s emergency contact at her school, in case he couldn’t be reached.” 

“Yes, I know he did.” 

John started down the stairs with Sherlock on his heels.

“Well, it’s an emergency, and they can’t reach Mycroft, so now they’ve called you.” John reached for the door, only to be spun around abruptly to face a visibly pale Sherlock.

“What’s happened to Claire?”

“She’s on her way to hospital. High fever, severe stomach pains, vomiting. And your bloody brother isn’t answering his phone.”

Sherlock said nothing, he just clenched his teeth and reached past John, jerking the door open and rushing out, arm already raised to hail a cab.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is ill and Mycroft is missing... 
> 
> Greg's got a good handle on high stress situations, but this is getting ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read and appreciate every single comment, even if I don't always get a chance to respond. Thank you all for your encouragement! And send some love to lyricalsoul and her amazing fics. Her beta-y goodness is a godsend and she is my rock in the storm when I need her.

Greg had just walked into his office when the phone on his desk rang. He hurried over, hoping that maybe Mycroft had gotten the opportunity to call, only to be disappointed when the caller ID indicated it was John. He sighed and answered.

“Hey, John, what’s going on?”

“Greg. Good. Glad you picked up. I tried your mobile and it went to voicemail.”

“Yeah,  I was in a meeting with the superintendent. Didn’t think he’d appreciate my mobile going off. What’s going on?

“I need you to get down to A and E at Royal Brompton as soon as possible.”

Greg’s stomach dropped.  John was in full professional mode, rattling off the details in the detached, matter-of-fact manner of any well trained emergency doctor. Which was comforting in itself, because it meant he had the situation in hand. Greg spun on his heel, snagging his coat from beside his door on his way out of his office.

“On my way. What’s happened? Is it Sherlock?”

“No. Claire.”

Greg stumbled and caught himself against a junior SOCO’s desk, who looked up in concern. When the young officer made to stand, Greg waved him off and pushed himself up. He took a shaky breath. “Tell me.”

“We just got a call from her school. They’re transporting her to hospital via ambulance. She’s got severe stomach pain and a high fever.”

Greg acknowledged the information with a nod, forgetting that John couldn’t see him.

“Greg? You still there?” 

Greg cleared his throat and started toward the elevators. “Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Just surprised me. Did they call Mycroft?”

John huffed. “They tried to, apparently. He’s not answering his mobile. Sherlock tried Anthea’s phone and got her voicemail.”

“Shit. Where the hell are they?”

“No idea, but I think it’ll help for you to be here. Claire’s going to be scared and upset. The more family we can get here, the better.”

“Yeah, right, I agree. What do you think is wrong with her?”

“Could be a number of things, I don’t like to speculate without seeing her.”

“Christ, John, I’m not going to sue you if you get it wrong. Just tell me what you think it is.”

“Appendicitis is my first thought, but it could be some type of intestinal obstruction. Either way, it’s serious. Could be a virus or something, but that wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Shit. So we’re talking surgery? Is anyone even authorized to sign off on that without Mycroft?”

“Greg, I’m only speculating. We don’t have any idea what’s going. We’ve got to wait until she’s seen at the hospital.”

“Yeah, but it’s bad, right?”

“It could be. But it also could be nothing more than a childhood illness. Kids can have strange reactions depending on the virus.”

“That’s not what you think it is, though.”

John sighed. “No. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be wrong. And you could ease off on the interrogation mode, mate.”

“Sorry...habit.”

“I get it. Just remember we’re on the same side, and I don’t have a lot of information at this point. Regardless, if medical decisions need to be made, Sherlock will take care of it. You just need to be here for morale support and to help keep them both calm.”

“Both?” Greg walked quickly through the lobby and out to his car.

“Sherlock’s handling things right now, but as soon as the drama is over, he’s going to crash, and crash hard. Claire’s probably going to be the easier one to deal with.”

“Claire’s always the easier one to deal with.”

John snorted. “Truer words, Greg…”

“Right. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Keep me posted if anything changes, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks, mate.” Greg rang off and yanked his car door open. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath, gripping the door frame hard, trying to shake off the spike of adrenaline and calm his racing pulse. It was a lost cause. He climbed into the car, and sped off in the direction of the hospital.

 

* * *

 

 

It was Greg who held Claire’s hand as the doctor explained that she did have appendicitis and needed to have surgery immediately. When she started crying for Mycroft, it was Sherlock who sat on the bed and gathered her up into his arms, rocking her gently and trying to keep her calm. When she threw up again, it was John who cleaned her up and found a scrub top for Sherlock to put on since his shirt was ruined. Through it all, Greg couldn’t stop the anger that was welling up in chest because the one person who was supposed to be here, the one Claire wanted and needed, was nowhere to be found. 

After the nurses collected Claire for theatre, Greg stepped out in the hallway to gather himself. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, clenching and releasing his hands, trying to let go of some of the tension. It didn’t really work. 

He snarled in frustration and fished his mobile out of his pocket. He gripped the phone hard, and took a long deep breath before he rang Mycroft. Again.

The call carried over to voicemail and Greg bit back a curse. 

“My, I don’t know what the hell is going on but you need to answer your damned phone. Claire is going into theatre to have her appendix out and Sherlock is mental, even more than usual. He’s made two doctors cry and a nurse quit her fucking job. Which, by the way, you’re going to get back for her because she shouldn’t be out of work because your brother is a right arse. John’s busy throwing around medical jargon that no one understands, and I’m the only fucking sane person in the room, and you can obviously tell how bloody well that’s going!

“I get that you’re working, and that your job is important, but this is your fucking daughter, Mycroft. Where the hell are you? And why isn’t Anthea answering either?”

There was a long, pregnant pause before Greg sighed, “Please tell me that you’re safe. And come home. Claire needs you to be here.”

 

* * *

  

Greg jumped when his phone rang, shaking him out of the light doze he had fallen into. 

“Lestrade.”

There was a deep, throaty chuckle from the other line. “Wow, Greg, is that honestly the way you answer the phone? Your junior officers must love you.”

Greg frowned and pulled the phone back from his ear and glanced at the name on the display. “Peter? Why the hell are you calling me?” He was very aware that he sounded like a child, confused and whinging. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. And you never call me.”

“Maybe I just felt like ringing my brother.”

“Then this would be the first time that’s ever happened.”

“Come on Greg, it’s not like we don’t talk. And I do ring occasionally, you berk.”

Greg sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sorry, Pete. What’s going on?”

“Not important. You sound like shite, what’s wrong?”

“Bad day.” Greg paused as a nurse came into the waiting room and called out the name of the family sitting to his left. He sighed.

“Are you at hospital? What happened?”

“Relax, Pete, it’s not for me.”

“But you _are_ at hospital…”

“Yeah. My partner’s little girl is in a bad way. She’s in theatre.”

“Christ, is it serious?”

“Could be. She’s having her appendix out. They caught it before it ruptured, but she’s only five, you know?”

“And how’s your bloke doing? Mycroft, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. And I don’t know how he’s doing. I can’t get a hold of him. He’s not picking up his mobile, and I have no bloody idea even where he is.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know where he is?”

Greg groaned and slumped back into his chair. “He’s got a job that takes him out of the country a lot. And he can’t ever give me much for detail, so right now I don’t know where he is, when he’s coming back, or if he even knows what’s going on here. So instead, I’m sitting here at hospital, waiting for word on Claire and trying not to kill his barmy brother.”

“That’s tough, Greg. I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”

“Nah, not much to do but sit and wait. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do, but I also know that waiting around doing nothing while someone you care about is in danger is driving you spare. Patience was never really one of your virtues.”

“Oi, you’re not exactly a saint either, Pete.”

“Lestrade trait, I guess,” Pete laughed.  “Seriously though, let us know if you need help. Even if it’s something simple like a hot meal or something. And text me when Claire’s out of theatre...mum will want to know.”

Greg groaned. “If you love me, even a little, you won’t get mum involved.”

“Of course I’m getting mum involved. Would you honestly rather deal with her if she finds out about all this after the fact? You’re a braver man than I am, mate.”

“Says the accountant to the copper, without a hint of irony.” Greg shifted in his chair and sighed. “Fine, go ahead and tell her. But make sure she knows that she doesn’t need to do anything and if she shows up at hospital with grapes, I’m eating them myself. Please, Pete, make sure she doesn’t show up here. I can’t deal with that, too."

“I’ll do my best, but you know she’s at least going to want a phone call. She’s always been strangely protective of you. Which is weird, because out of all of us, you could take care of yourself. And were generally the reason we were all in trouble in the first place.”

“True enough,” Greg laughed. “Thanks, Pete. I’m glad you called. You saved me about three minutes of staring at the walls.”

“I do what I can. And I’ll let you get back to your fretting. I know you’ll want to try Mycroft again soon. It’s probably been a whole five minutes since you last checked your messages. Cheers, Greg. Talk again soon.”

“Yeah, cheers Pete. I’ll call when I know something. And thanks for dealing with mum.”

“You owe me.”

Greg rang off and stared at his phone. After a few moments of hesitation, he rolled his eyes and gave into the temptation to check his texts and voicemail to see if Mycroft or Anthea called. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment when there were no messages, even though he knew it was ridiculous to check. He slumped back and tipped his head back to rest against the wall. It was going to be a long wait.

  

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, they had the waiting room to themselves. Greg and John sat shoulder to shoulder in silence in the hard, unforgiving hospital chairs while Sherlock paced back and forth shouting deductions at the television in the corner, which was tuned to some ridiculous talk show. 

When Mycroft rounded the corner into the room, it felt as if all the air was sucked out of the space. Sherlock froze, cutting off mid-sentence, and glanced over his brother from head to toe. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but he remained silent.

Surprised by the sudden interruption to Sherlock’s pacing, John and Greg looked over to the doorway. John took a deep breath through clenched teeth before standing up.

“Right then, good of you to finally make it, Mycroft. I’m going to go see if I can find anything out.”

Mycroft paused and leaned heavily on his umbrella. “I assure you, John, I’ve already checked with the medical team as I came in. There are no updates at this time, aside from the surgery is progressing exactly as planned.”

“Well then, I’m leaving the room so I don’t tell you what I think about how you’ve handled the situation. Come on, Sherlock.”

Before John could get across the room, Anthea walked in and shut the door, leaning back against it with her arms folded across her chest. “Stay, Dr. Watson. Surely you can put aside your anger for a few moments. This is, after all, a time for family to come together.”

John glared at her but flopped back down without a word. Greg, on the other hand, scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes.

Mycroft took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead gently. He shifted his weight and tucked the small linen square away. “Is there something you’d like to say, Gregory?”

“You two have a lot of bloody nerve going on about family,” he muttered, his hands tightening into fists where they rested on his thighs.

Mycroft pinched his lips into a tight line, and remained quiet. Anthea waited, giving him ample time to reply, before she interjected, “I assure you, Greg, we came as soon as we could.”

“Well done you,” Greg mocked, glaring at Mycroft. “So glad you could fit us into your busy schedule. Must be inconvenient, having to leave your posh private jet and luxury hotels behind while you deal with your ‘family.’ “

Mycroft blinked a few times and took a deep breath. “Gregory, I can appreciate your anger. I acknowledge and understand that difficult position all three of you were placed in. Unfortunately, the situation we were involved in was such that a hasty departure was not possible. For that you have my sincerest apologies.”

Greg growled and stood up, shrugging off John’s hand, which had tried to catch his forearm as he stalked toward Mycroft. Sherlock glanced quickly at Anthea and they both began to slowly approach the pair.

“Your apologies don’t mean shit right now, Mycroft, and you bloody well know it! That little girl… _your little girl_ …was terrified and you weren’t here. She kept asking for you. Crying for you. And you weren’t here. You can apologise until the bloody sun burns itself out, and it won’t make a bit of difference!”

Sherlock covered the remaining distance to Greg’s side in a few quick strides and pressed his hand into his chest, keeping a safe distance between him and his brother, who was standing there, rigid and ashen. He caught John's eye, and nodded toward Mycroft.

Mycroft closed his eyes slowly and took a shaky, stilted breath before opening them.  “You have every reason to be upset with me Gregory, and I respect your right to admonish me for my behavior.” He licked his lips and squinted against the bright overhead lights. “Please believe me when I tell you that I am extremely upset about what has transpired, and I will do everything in my power to assure Claire that I will be there for her in the future. I do not intend to allow another situation like this to occur.”

Greg shoved back against Sherlock, who held fast. “That’s somehow supposed to make this better? You’re upset so we should all just let it go? Christ, Mycroft…”

“Of course not!” Mycroft shouted, stumbling slightly before catching himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and and pressed his palm against the center of his forehead.

Anthea grabbed Mycroft’s arm with one hand and reached out for John with the other. “John…please…”

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked blearily over at Greg. “Gregory, I’m sorry…” he slurred before crumpling to the ground.

John was crouched by his side in an instant, pressing his fingers into Mycroft’s neck, taking his pulse. “Sherlock, find a nurse. Hurry!”

Sherlock nodded and dashed out of the room, leaving Greg reeling in shock. He stood by, dumbfounded as John pulled off Mycroft’s tie and unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, only to expose a bloom of crimson along Mycroft’s left side, shockingly bright against his stark white shirt.

John’s eyes darted up to Anthea. “What the hell happened? Why is he bleeding?”

Anthea glanced at him, wide eyed, and then back down to the patch blood that was spreading rapidly. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me he had any other injuries. I don’t know.”

“Other injuries? What ones do you know about?”

“He took a blow to the head, just behind his right ear. I thought it was substantial, but he brushed it off. I’m also fairly certain that he broke two fingers on his right hand, but he wouldn’t let the doctor see to them. I did try…”

“Fucking hell,” Greg muttered as he dropped to his knees beside Mycroft. “What can I do, John?”

“Help me position him on his back. Straighten out his legs.”

Greg shifted Mycroft as gently as possible, and was just about to ask for the next direction when Sherlock burst back into the room with two nurses and doctor, who were pushing a gurney.

John and Greg moved aside quickly, with John rattling of his credentials and his assessment of Mycroft's condition. The medical team got Mycroft situated on the gurney, and out the door, with Anthea following.The words washed over Greg in a jumbled cacophony as he sat unmoving on the floor. He started when Sherlock tucked his hands under his arms and hoisted him to his feet.

“Come on, Greg. Come have a seat. The last thing we need is you passing out as well.”

He nodded dumbly as Sherlock led him over to a chair and pressed a cup of water into his hands. He sat in silence and stared at the water. The question he wanted to ask pressed at the back of his teeth, but he fought against it, afraid of the answer. Sherlock sat beside him, scrolling on his mobile and shooting furtive glances between Greg and the door. The clock ticked by the minutes, the sound of it strangely loud in the quiet of the room.

“Is he going to be alright?”

Sherlock huffed. “Of course he is. My brother is far too stubborn to let a concussion and a minor laceration put him out of commission for long.”

“It didn’t look minor, Sherlock.”

“Of course it was. You failed to observe the salient details. As usual, I might add. The blood in the center of the area was fresh, but the wound was obviously bleeding sluggishly for quite some time, as the edges of the bloodstain were considerably darker and drier than the center. He likely lost consciousness because of the concussion, not blood loss.”

“Actually,” John interrupted, coming back into the room, “it was probably the combination of the concussion and hypovolemic shock. The doctors are assessing him, but it looks like he’s going to be fine.”

Greg took a shaky breath. “He didn’t look fine.”

“That’s because seeing someone you care about laying about bleeding is traumatic. Sherlock’s right, you only saw the blood, not the rest of the details.” John sank into the chair next to him, and tapped his finger against the cup of water, reminding Greg to drink it. “The laceration on his side will need a stitches, but it’s fairly superficial. The concussion and the dehydration are the more immediate concerns, but again, he should be fine, provided there are no complications. How are you?”

Greg offered him a wan smile. “Not currently under a doctor’s care, so you know, better than Mycroft and Claire right now.”

“Nice try, but you’re under my care, so don’t get cocky. And drink the water, because if you pass out on me too, you’re buying on pub night for the next year. I don’t need this kind of stress from you, I deal with enough of it from Sherlock.”

Greg chuckled and drank more water. “I see how it is, making it all about you, huh?”

John laughed. “Damn right, I am. I need to take what I can get.”

“Can I see him?” Greg asked.

“As soon as they get him settled, and run a few tests to see how badly he’s bashed his brain, they’ll let you back.”

Greg sighed and slumped back in the chair, turning the now empty cup in his hands absentmindedly.

Sherlock plucked the cup from his fingers and tossed it into the wastebasket a few metres away. “It’s fine, Greg. You can go deal with my odious brother. John and I will wait for news on Claire, and we’ll update you as soon as we know something. For now, though, there’s nothing any of us can do but wait.”

John crossed his arms and leaned back. “And we all know how good the three of us are at that…”

Sherlock and Greg joined in with his laughter and settled in to wait for news.

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft first noticed the faint sound of beeping, though it seemed distant and muffled. As his awareness grew, the beeping became louder, until it grated on his nerves and could no longer be ignored. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly and clenched his teeth, ignoring the spike of pain the motion caused. 

Warm fingers brushed lightly over his forehead and down his cheek.

“You with me yet, My?”

Gregory.

He slowly opened his eyes and tipped his head toward Greg’s voice.

Greg smiled softly and stroked his cheek again.

“It’s about time you woke up. Been sat here for the last two hours just waiting.”

Mycroft blinked a few times, frowning at the light. He took a shallow breath and winced as the motion pulled against the newly sutured wound in his side.

“Claire?” he murmured, knowing that Greg would fill in the rest the question.

“She’s fine, My. The surgery went well, she’s resting now. John and Sherlock are with her.”

Mycroft moved to sit up, groaning as the pain radiated up his spine and sparked across his vision. Greg pushed him gently back down and kept his hand in the center of his chest.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting up yet.”

Mycroft swallowed back another wave of pain. “Gregory, please, I have to see to Claire.”

“Claire has the best possible care, and two overprotective uncles hovering over her bed. She doesn’t need ‘seeing to’ right now. And even if she did, you’re in no shape to do it. You need to rest, Mycroft.” Greg paused, waiting until Mycroft opened his mouth to protest before he cut in. “If I have to go get the nurse, they’re going to drug you into submission. I’m not above doing that right now.”

Mycroft sighed, defeated. “Your bedside manner is appalling.”

“Yeah, well… You got stabbed. And had your brilliant brain bashed in. You don’t get a vote.”

“I wasn’t stabbed, Gregory. You’re always so quick to exaggerate.”

“Says the man with eleven stitches in his abdomen.”

“That may very well be true, but it wasn’t a stab wound.”

“Did it come from a knife?”

“Gregory…”

Greg crossed his arms over his chest. “Did it?”

“Yes…”

“Then you bloody well got stabbed, you great clot. And before you even think about arguing semantics, know that I’m not happy with you for refusing medical attention.”

Mycroft pursed his lips. “I did not refuse medical attention. I merely failed to mention a few minor injuries in order to expedite my arrival here to be with Claire.”

“Minor injuries that resulted in you bleeding through your shirt, passing out, and needing to have your hand taped up like a prize fighter.”

“Technically, I did speak to a physician about the head injury. The sudden loss of consciousness was…unexpected.”

“Do you see this?” Greg motioned to his expression, which looked decidedly unimpressed. “Do you see this look that says I really don’t care about your excuses? The same one you’ve seen me give your brother more times than either of us can count? Yeah… just… don’t. You know exactly what I’m getting at, and being an arse over technicalities isn’t really helping me like you right now.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, surprised again at how much the motion hurt his head. “Apologies, Gregory. I’ll admit that I may have overlooked the state of my health in my haste to get to the hospital.”

“And…?”

“And I apologise for worrying you.”

“And…?”

“And I’ll do my best to take your concerns under advisement should I ever find myself in this position again.”

“Which you aren’t going to be in again, right?”

“It seems highly unlikely.”

“Good. Because I cannot take anymore stress, My. You and your family are going to send me to an early grave.”

“I shall do my best to prevent that, my dear. I do have a rather vested interest in your continued good health.”

“Damn right. Now, what the hell happened?”

Mycroft glanced away and plucked at the bed sheet with his left, unbroken hand. He looked back at Greg, who was frowning. “I’m afraid that there is very little that I can tell you, Gregory. Particularly in this location.”

“Anthea already swept for bugs. We’re as safe here as anywhere. And I don’t need all the details, but I feel like you owe me an explanation as to why my partner is laying in one hospital bed, and why his little girl went into theatre without him being there.”

Mycroft sighed. “You must know that I would have done anything in my power to make that not the case. The thought of Claire, frightened, ill, and alone is an experience I do not wish to see repeated.”

Greg nodded. “Still…”

“I know, Gregory.”

“So what happened, then?”

“You’re going to have to sign the Official Secrets Act, retroactively dated to include this conversation.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “I’ll sign anything you want me to, just get to the damn point, Mycroft. I want to know what happened.”

“Fine. Do you remember Lucian Navros?”

Greg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “Name sounds familiar.”

“You met him, albeit briefly, at the state dinner that we attended.”

“Sniveling little rat-faced bastard?”

Mycroft huffed a laugh and then winced, covering the wound in his side with his splinted hand. Greg frowned and laid his hand gently on Mycroft’s arm. Once the ache subsided, Mycroft took a careful breath.

“Not the official description, but an accurate one nonetheless . Lucian has long been a thorn in my side. He holds...held…a position within the official channels that allowed him a certain amount of latitude, and access to some of the top covert operatives we have, particularly in Eastern Europe.

“It came to my attention about year ago that he was assembling a portfolio of ‘extracurricular activities’ that resulted in substantial monetary gain, and access to classified intelligence. After one particular incident in Serbia, I took an interest in the situation, as it became clear that he was angling to make a move against me, personally. That move, which resulted in my current condition, was put to rest earlier today. I still have a team onsite gathering information and tying up loose ends. After I am released from medical supervision, I’ll have several hours of work to do myself, but I’m hopeful that I can accomplish it from here. I don’t intend to leave the hospital until Claire is ready to go home. Anthea will help coordinate.”

“She’s pissed at you, you know.”

“I can only imagine that I will be dealing with her wrath for weeks to come. It’s going to be a very expensive apology on my part.”

“You said something about Serbia. Did that have anything to do with what happened to Sherlock?”

Mycroft’s whole demeanor hardened. “As I said, after that point, I took a personal interest in the situation.”

Greg took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Christ Mycroft…He was the one responsible for torturing your brother? That… I can’t… I’ve seen his back, My. The scars.”

Mycroft nodded. “Lucian Navros was ‘in bed’ with James Moriarty. The extent of which is still being discovered, but it has been determined that he was paid a substantial amount of money to provide my team with false information that led to Sherlock’s arrival and subsequent capture in Serbia. Not only did it make Navros a very wealthy man, but it gave him a certain amount of power over me, as I was compelled to use official resources to rescue my ‘dead’ brother. He did, however, underestimate the amount of loyalty I have garnered within the echelons of government in both England and with other world powers.”

“But not before you got stabbed and beaten.”

Mycroft raised one brow, unimpressed. “I did not get stabbed, Gregory.”

“Knife. Blood. Stitches. Stop arguing semantics.”

“Navros recently made a poorly calculated decision that changed our timeline for the resolution of the situation.”

“Which was?”

“He threatened you. Not personally, of course, but there was no mistaking who set that particular event in motion. I’ve no doubt that Claire would have been the next target.”

“That’s what that whole thing was about. I had been wondering why I was a target.”

“Indeed.”

“So what happened earlier today?”

“It actually began yesterday.”

“Mycroft…”

“Anthea and I were removed from a meeting by force.”

“He fucking **_kidnapped_** you?” Greg didn’t shout, but it was a near thing.

Mycroft held up a placating hand. “As I said, he greatly underestimated my preparations. I had a team mobilized within moments of the event. His actions were not altogether unexpected.”

“You used yourself as bait. You utter arse.”

“Gregory, please. There is no need for histrionics. The meeting was intended to get him to show his hand. A forceful abduction was only one of the possibilities we were prepared for. I was hoping it would not come to that, but needs must.”

“So what happened?”

“Anthea and I were moved to a secure location, separated, and threatened.”

“And by threatened, you mean beaten.”

“Yes, but it was surprisingly minor, all things considered. Thankfully, they did not harm Anthea, aside from sleep deprivation, and minor dehydration. The extraction team would have dealt more harshly with our captors had she been injured in any way. It would have made my job much more difficult in the aftermath. It’s difficult to get information from corpses, and my team is nothing if not loyal to our own.”

“But they did get to you, didn’t they?”

“Again, my injuries are minor, Gregory.”

“You have a severe concussion, broken fingers, and eleven bloody stitches.”

“I also have at least two cracked ribs, several contusions, and I’ve possibly strained a muscle in my back.”

“Jesus, Mycroft…” Greg groaned.

“But, given the alternative, and what I can only surmise as Navros’ ultimate goal, my injuries are far preferable to an early grave.”

“He would’ve killed you?”

“No, not as such, but I believe he intended for there to be an ‘accident’ during my so-called rescue. Fortuitously, we had already sussed out his plan, and one of his ‘loyal’ employees was quite happy to play the role of double agent.”

“Lucky, that.”

Mycroft smirked. “I repeat; my team is nothing if not loyal to their own.”

“And where is the bastard now?”

“He is in custody and will be facing charges. Likely for treason.”

“Good.” Greg sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He took Mycroft’s hand and opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again and looking down to where their fingers were entwined.

Mycroft squeezed his fingers. “I understand, Gregory. And it is my intention to take steps to ensure that I am no longer called upon to be an active participant in situations such as this. But I had to protect my family, and I make no apologies for that.”

Greg was quiet for several long moments, just rubbing his thumb across the back of Mycroft’s hand. “Too close, My. This was too close.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Mycroft raised their hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into the back of Greg’s hand. “I agree, Gregory. I don’t intend for this to happen again. It won’t remove me from all possible dangers, but I plan to mitigate the worst possible scenarios. I will do everything within my considerable power to make sure I’m around to watch Claire grow into the fine woman she will undoubtedly become.” He paused. “And I sincerely hope you’ll be there to bear witness as well. With me. With us.”

Greg looked up and gave Mycroft a crooked smile. “Yeah? Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Someone has to be the voice of reason in this ridiculous arrangement.”

Mycroft chuckled softly. “Perhaps we could seal our accord with a kiss? I have missed you, you know.”

“Did you now?” Greg teased. “Between all of your covert operations and being kidnapped and finding an altogether horrible way to get your yearly medical check? I’m surprised you found the time to miss me.”

“I am very aware of the time I spend away from you. You are confounding, distracting, and extremely missable. Now, I’d very much like a kiss.”

Greg chuckled and leaned over, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips. When they pulled away, they shared a significant look, both on the verge of saying something more. After a long pause, Mycroft glanced away, breaking the moment. He knew how he felt about Gregory, and was fairly confident that the depth of his feelings were returned, but he still felt off-footed enough to delay giving those feelings voice. Thankfully, Greg didn’t press.

Greg cleared his throat and blushed lightly. “Now, love, how are you feeling? Truthfully…”

Mycroft took a breath, conscious of his injured ribs, and let it out slowly. “Tired. Sore. Slightly dizzier than I’d like to admit.”

Greg nodded. “I imagined as much. Now I’d appreciate it if you could look just a bit sleepier and disoriented. I was supposed to tell the nurse, and Anthea, the moment you woke up.”

Mycroft smiled. “I’ll do my best to play into your subterfuge. Why don’t you show them in? The sooner they fuss over me, the sooner I can go and see to Claire.”

“After you get at least another hour of rest, I’ll take you to her myself. Not a moment sooner, no matter what you threaten me with.”

“Tyrant.”

“The only way to deal with a Holmes is to be firm and unyielding.”

Mycroft smirked.

“Oi, none of that. You’re at least a week out from getting up to anything even remotely close to my firm and unyielding. Cheeky bastard.”

Mycroft laughed and settled back into the pillows, closing his eyes. Greg stood up and brushed a kiss over Mycroft’s brow and left the room to go alert the others.

 

* * *

 

It was a full four hours before Mycroft could convince Anthea and Greg, and subsequently his doctor, that he was well enough to leave his room to see Claire. It was a testament to how poorly he was still feeling that he didn’t even argue about their insistence that he use a wheelchair. The nagging dizziness and nausea were bad enough when he was lying still, and the slow ride to the pediatric wing was stomach turning. He was relieved when they finally arrived, and Greg positioned him at Claire’s bedside, across from where Sherlock, John, and Ada were seated, keeping watch over her as she slept. 

He took a few breaths to clear away the worst of the nausea and looked up to meet the assessing gazes of the others. Sherlock was the first to break the silence of the room.

“You look horrid, brother mine.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. A gracious assessment as always.”

“Mycroft, Sherlock’s right. You don’t look well. Are you sure you are up to being here?”

Mycroft shifted his posture and gave John a cool look. “I can assure you, John, that should you try to remove me from my daughter’s bedside, you will find yourself failing spectacularly.”

Sherlock smirked, “Such a show of sentiment from the man who long professed his disdain for emotional outpourings…”

Mycroft arched his brow. “Indeed, little brother. It seems that, if Moriarty were still alive, he’d have to find new nicknames for us. The Iceman and The Virgin no longer appear to be applicable.”

Sherlock snorted and grinned.

“Wait, what now?” Greg looked back and forth between the three of them, before seeing the the proof of this new revelation written in the deep blush staining John’s cheeks as he stood awkwardly and made to leave the room. He laughed and clapped John on the shoulder. “About time, mate. About bloody time.”

John shrugged off his grip. “Shut up, you wanker,” he said gruffly, though he was smiling as he said it.

Ada stood up and patted Claire’s hand. “Well, with that lovely announcement…” she said dryly, “Congratulations, by the way, gentlemen… I think it is time for all of us to leave Mycroft and Claire alone for a bit. Come along. You too, Greg.”

Greg looked down at Mycroft, whose attention was already solely focused on Claire. “I’m not sure leaving them is a good idea. What if Mycroft needs something?”

Ada came around the bed and looped her arm through Greg’s. “Then he is perfectly capable pressing a button and summoning a nurse. He needs time with his little girl. It’s been a traumatic day, and there are things to be said that don’t need extra ears.”

Greg sighed and let himself be pulled from the room. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything, My.”

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft murmured, not looking up.

Once he heard the door close, Mycroft reached out and caressed Claire’s cheek, stroking his fingers along her cheekbone and pushing her curls off of her brow. “Oh, my darling girl, I’m so sorry.”

Claire stirred at his touch, and blinked her eyes open when he spoke. She smiled gently. “You’re back.”

“I am. And I’m so very sorry I was not here when you got ill. Are you alright, bijou?”

She reached out for him and Mycroft took her hand, cradling it in his. “It hurts. And I feel sick still. Everything’s all spinny.”

Mycroft stroked her cheek, clamping down hard on the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. “I know, sweetheart, I know. But it shall pass. The doctors are going to take very good care of you.” He cleared his throat, struggling against the heavy lump that had formed there. “And I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you again.”

He didn’t realize that he was crying until Claire reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek. “What’s wrong? Are you sad?”

Mycroft sniffed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment to compose himself. “No, I’m just very thankful that you are well. I was very worried.”

“It’s okay, Papa. My teacher says that adults can cry too.”

Mycroft huffed out a broken laugh, and leaned in to gather Claire very gently into his arms, ignoring the way his body protested the movement.

Claire hugged him, her little arms wrapping around his neck as he pressed a kiss into her hair. “Is it okay if I call you Papa?”

Mycroft paused, pulling back so he could see Claire’s face. “I…It is… Are you certain?

Claire bit her lip and toyed with a bit of cloth between her fingers, avoiding his gaze. “You said I could stay, right? You won’t give me back?”

Mycroft frowned at the unexpected change of subject. “Of course. Of course you can stay.”

“And you’ll protect me from bad guys and nightmares and stuff?”

“Always. I’ve promised you that as well.”

“And you’re still going to read me stories? And play with me? Even though you don’t really play…Uncle Sherlock is better at playing, but you try hard. Are you still going to do that?”

It was ridiculous to be jealous of his brother. He was a grown man for god’s sake. And he couldn’t, in all honesty, fault her logic. He smiled.

“I’ll continue to read stories to you, Claire. And do my best to learn to play properly.”

Claire nodded and looked down at her hands. She twisted the bit of blanket in her fingers before asking quietly, “And do you…do you love me?”

It physically hurt to hear in her voice, how unsure she was of the answer. Mycroft swallowed hard and covered her hands with his own.

“Yes, I do.”

Claire smiled but didn’t look up. “That sounds like all the things a papa does. That’s why I thought maybe I could call you that.”

Mycroft couldn’t fight the smile that threatened to overtake his features. He reached out and tipped Claire’s chin up so she was looking at him. “If you’d like to call me that, I will most humbly accept the name.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “But I think we should talk about this more tomorrow, when you are feeling better. Perhaps you might change your mind in the morning. Which would be fine, of course.”

“I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

“And I rather hope you don’t, but I still think we should talk about it more. Would that be all right?”

Claire nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep. She reached out for him and he wrapped her in another hug for a few more moments before laying her back down and adjusting her pillows. “Now, little one, you must get some more rest so that you feel better in the morning.”

“Will you be here?”

“I promise you I will do my very best to be here when you wake up. But if I’m not, you won’t be alone. Sherlock, or John, or Ada, or Gregory will be here with you. I promise.”

Claire smiled mischievously. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I think Uncle Sherlock loves Uncle John.”

“Of course he does. Your Uncle Sherlock has loved John for years.  They were both just too stubborn to admit it.”

Claire giggled. “Just like you and Greg, right?” 

Mycroft blinked a few times before chuckling. “Yes, bijou. Just like that. Now close your eyes and go to sleep. I…” Mycroft took a shuddery breath. “I love you, Claire.”

Claire smiled and closed her eyes. Mycroft tucked his hand into Claire’s hair and gently ran his long fingers back and forth over Claire’s scalp, just as he had years ago when he would try to settle Sherlock down for some much needed rest. Several minutes passed and Mycroft was sure Claire had fallen asleep until he heard a quiet, “I love you too, Papa.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family descends upon our wounded duo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end! I'm thinking maybe one or two more chapters plus an epilogue. But don't worry! There are many snippets that have yet to be written and will make up a companion piece of one-shots in the same 'verse. 
> 
> Love to lyricalsoul and her amazingness. She's the reason I keep writing, ladies and gents. And also why I'm passably sane in public. :-)

“There you are. I should’ve known. And of course, you’re breaking as many rules as possible in the process.”

Mycroft looked up from the paperwork in his lap. To his credit, he didn't startle - quick movements indicated guilt and in his condition, made him nauseated - and he wasn't going to give Gregory the satisfaction of appearing guilty.

“Good afternoon, Gregory. I hadn’t expected to see you again until this evening.”

“Stop trying to deflect, Mycroft. You know you’re caught.”

“And what is it that I’m meant to feel chagrined about?”

“You’re supposed to be resting. Traumatic Brain Injury, remember? And you’re not supposed to be sitting for long periods of time because you decided to get yourself another roguish scar to add to your collection. And that wheelchair is for transporting you, not a table for the work you're not supposed to be doing."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, gathered his papers into a folder, and set them aside. “While my physician insisted that the only way I could leave my room was to acquiesce to being sat in a wheelchair, he did not specify that I must remain in said wheelchair. Nor did he specify a time limit to my sitting upright. And I’m sure the Commonwealth will much appreciate my not taking a week away from my duties, when I’m perfectly capable of reviewing trade agreements.”

“And the way that you’re holding your head perfectly still and pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth so you don’t clench your teeth doesn’t mean you have a headache either, does it?”

Mycroft sighed and looked over at Claire, who was napping at his side. “I didn’t want her to wake up alone.”

“Which is exactly the excuse you gave this morning when I found you in here.”

“It was as true then as it is now.”

Greg stepped over and placed his hand gently on Mycroft’s shoulder, giving it a  small squeeze. Mycroft sighed and turned his head slowly to brush his cheek against Greg’s warm fingers. “I know, My, and I understand. She looks so tiny in that big white bed. But you can’t delay your own recovery just to watch her sleep. You know that you could’ve texted one of us to stay with her so you could get some rest.”

“Sherlock and John were both exhausted after staying with her last night, after I was rudely forced into my own room. Neither of them are fond of sleeping in hospital.”

“Seems to be a family trait. And you already used that as an excuse for being in here when I arrived this morning.”

Mycroft frowned. “As much as I am annoyed that you have exposed my subterfuge, it disturbs me greatly that I appear to have forgotten that I had used that particular line of reasoning earlier.”

“Even more reason you should be resting right now.” Greg smiled in sympathy. “And before you have a ridiculous Holmesian crisis over early onset dementia, remember that the doctor told you that lapses in short term memory were completely normal and expected with the type of concussion you have.”

“Somehow, I fail to find that comforting.”

“You know that Anthea has been sitting outside the room for at least an hour, don’t you? She told me she was willing to humour you for another fifteen minutes before making you go back to your own room. And we both know she can move you bodily if she has to.”

Mycroft sighed, grimaced, and then leaned back slowly. “I am beset from all sides, it seems.”

“Oh yes, poor you. All of these people fussing over you. Whatever will you do?”

“Misappropriate my security resources, have you all declared as potential threats, and then barred from the premises?”

“You wouldn’t dare. Sherlock would scale the building and break in just to spite you. John and I would help. And Anthea would make the remainder of your newly shortened life a living hell.”

Mycroft shuddered. “And thus my nightmares take a new and delightfully harrowing turn for the worse.”

Greg walked over to Claire’s side and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “You need to be resting, My.”

“I know.”

“She’s safe and she’s going to be fine.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still feeling guilty, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mycroft murmured.

“Even though there was not one thing you could’ve changed about what happened? You got kidnapped and beaten, Mycroft. There was nothing you could do.”

“That does not change the fact that when she was asking for me, frightened and in pain, I was not here. You said it yourself.”

Greg groaned and rubbed his face. “I knew that would come back to bite me in the arse.”

“Just because it was said in anger does not make it any less true.”

“I wasn’t angry. Well, I was, but more at the situation than at you.”

“That may be your comfortingly revisionist history, Gregory, but you were, in fact, quite angry with me. And you had every right to be.” Mycroft shifted painfully in his seat. “It’s certainly not the first time my work has taken me away from a family member in need.”

“You’re still blaming yourself for Sherlock, aren’t you? God, Mycroft, I thought we had this sorted years ago.”

“Gregory…”

“Don’t ‘Gregory’ me. It was over a decade ago. You were in the midst of a new career, and now I know that you were also dealing with the fact that your partner had just died. Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing when he decided to shoot up that night, and no amount of brotherly hovering was going to change that fact. It was years in coming, and it was only a matter of time before he OD’d trying to shut off that big brain of his.”

“He needed guidance, and support, and I made myself unavailable to him.”

“You were going through your own shit. He was a 24-year-old adult who made a stupid decision. A decision that he was going to make whether you had been there or not. That’s not on you.”

“But you were there.”

“That was pure, dumb luck, and you know it. And you were there too, as soon as we got him to hospital. Or don’t you remember hovering around the edges of the room, looking like death, until he woke up?” Greg gave him a long assessing look. “Sort of exactly how you look now, come to mention it.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, but said nothing.

Greg crouched down by Mycroft’s chair. “Look, My. I know that you think that somehow this situation makes you a bad parent. Just like you think the situation with Sherlock makes you a bad brother. But that’s…”

“Utterly ridiculous,” a deep baritone chimed in from the doorway.

Greg turned to see Sherlock leaning against the door jamb with John at his side.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Still ignoring every indication of a private conversation, are we brother mine?”

“I am when you’re being an idiot.” Sherlock came in and nudged Greg gracelessly out of the way. “If what I am about to say leaves this room, I will personally and systematically eviscerate each and every one of you. Are we clear? Good. Now, look at me, Mycroft.”

He waited, frowning, until Mycroft acquiesced. “You are an overbearing, fussy, controlling, manipulative bastard who takes personal offense when the world does not bend to your will. You have interfered with my life on more occasions than I can count. You have done your best to mold me into an image of propriety that we both know was never achievable, and you continue to meddle in my affairs on a nearly constant basis. But, that said, I can admit without hesitation that you have been the guiding force in my life and the persistent voice, albeit mostly unwelcome, in my head.”

He paused to make eye contact with each of them. “The three of you have made me a better man, and I cannot adequately express what it means that you have continued to have faith in me, despite that being evidence which seriously calls your sanity into question.” He smiled at Greg’s somewhat watery chuckle, before turn back toward his brother. “Mycroft, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to Claire.”

Mycroft blinked up at his brother and gave him a soft half-smile. “Sherlock, I…”

“No. Don’t. There is no reason to indulge in any additional emotional histrionics. I’ve quite handled that for today. Just…tend to yourself, and allow me to spend a few uninterrupted hours with my niece.”

Sherlock looked around the room and glared at the approving looks he was receiving. “Oh for god’s sake. I’m not a completely emotionally repressed bastard! Now, I am leaving this room and getting a cup of tea. When I return, I expect you all to be gone. Except John. He can stay.” He turned on his heel and all but fled.

John was the one to break the silence that followed. “He’s right, you know, Mycroft. You really are the best thing that’s ever happened to Claire. And to Sherlock.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, but found that anything he might say would be inadequate. He needed time to ruminate on Sherlock’s outburst and the combination of his head injury and lack of sleep made it difficult to process his jumbled emotions. Instead he just nodded slightly.

Greg reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s shoulder. “Right then. Let’s get you up and situated in the hated wheelchair and get you back to your room. I’d hate to see what would happen if we were still here when His Nibs gets back.”

John laughed. “Please don’t do that to me, Greg. He’s already a bit high strung with everything that’s been happening. No need to add to the drama.”

Mycroft smiled and shook his head. “And yet, he is still convinced that people don’t see through the ‘High Functioning Sociopath’ label he wears so proudly. Thank you for helping him navigate through these emotionally fraught waters, John.”

“Of course. He’s an awkward melodramatic mess, but I’m glad he’s _my_ mess.”

Mycroft winced as John and Greg helped him take a seat in the wheelchair. “As I mentioned before, chocolate Hobnobs tend to dull Sherlock’s emotive insecurities. You might try feeding him into sugar induced submission.”

Greg smirked at John. “And if that doesn’t work, you could always slip a sedative into his tea. Get him back for the Baskerville incident.”

John rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s going to continue paying for that for years.”

“Well, there are other ways…” Greg gave John an exaggerated wink, which earned him a frown from Mycroft.

“And with that altogether obvious, and wholly unwelcome reference to my little brother’s sex life, I think it’s best I leave. Do let Claire know I will see her later when she awakens, won’t you John?”

“Of course. But if you come back here before four hours have passed, I’m kicking you back out again.”

Greg laughed and took control of Mycroft’s chair, pushing him toward the door. “Don’t worry, John, I’ll make sure he stays put. I’m planning my own sleepy-time vigil. We’ll see you later, yeah?”

John waved over his shoulder and settled into the chair at Claire’s side.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft awoke several hours later to the muffled sounds of what could only be described as an argument. He opened his eyes and glanced around, finding the room empty, but the weakly steaming cup of tea near the guest chair and Greg’s battered paperback indicated that he hadn’t been alone for long.

He stretched cautiously and listened more intently at the voices outside his door.

_“No, mum. Absolutely not.”_

_“Oh come now, Greg, there’s nothing to be fussed about. I just want to say hello.”_

_“And I’ll let you, once he’s home and settled and not in bloody hospital!”_

_“He can’t help that he’s in hospital. Besides, that’s why I’m here. I have to take care of my kids.”_

_“I know you’re used to taking in strays, Mum, but Mycroft’s not your kid. Damn it, Pete, you were supposed to make sure this didn’t happen.”_

_“Hey, she didn’t bring grapes, so…you know…that’s something. I did try, but you know how she is. There’s no stopping Hurricane Ellie once she gets her dander up.”_

_“Which is why you weren’t supposed to tell her what was happening, you useless excuse for a brother!”_

_“Gregory! Peter! Hush now, both of you! You’re going to disturb the whole ward and wake that poor boy up!”_

_“Mum. Seriously. I know you’re concerned, but Mycroft’s not going to be in any mood to hold court. He’s in his pyjamas for God’s sake!”_

_“I raised four boys and three girls, and if you think I’m going to be put off by a grown man wearing pyjamas, you’ve got another think coming, Gregory Lestrade. Your bloke could be starkers and I’d never even bat an eye.”_

_“Mum…”_

_“I’m going to go in there, and say hullo to your lad, and you and your brother are not going to stop me. Your Mycroft needs to know that everything is well in hand so that he can concentrate on getting well. Now out of my way.”_

As soon as the door cracked open, Mycroft shut his eyes and slowed his breathing. Feigning sleep was the only way to get through the next few minutes. No mother would possibly wake a man who was recuperating in hospital. Of course not.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep. You’re not fooling anyone. I’ve raised far too many children to be put off by that feeble attempt.”

Evidently societal rules don’t apply to the Lestrade family. Mycroft took one last fortifying breath and opened his eyes. A short, stout woman with a soft smile and warm brown eyes was stood at the end of his bed. Greg was just behind her, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans and the other grasping the back of his neck. He blushed and mouthed ‘ _I’m sorry’_ with a sheepish grin when Mycroft made eye contact. Another Lestrade, obviously Greg’s brother, given his stature, brilliant silver hair, and same warm eyes, stood leaning against the doorframe, looking at once both amused and slightly embarrassed.

Mycroft licked his lips and swallowed down the flare of nervousness that was fluttering in his chest. He tipped his head slightly.

“Mrs. Lestrade, I presume? A pleasure to meet you.”

That was apparently all the acknowledgment she needed to break back into a flurry of motion. In three quick steps and flounce of fabric, she was seated at his bedside with his hand firmly held in hers.

“Now, now, love, I’m Ellie to you. You’re Greggie’s bloke, which means you’re a part of this family, and we Lestrades don’t stand on ceremony.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply and was promptly cut off.

“And before you even think about apologizing for your appearance, you just stop. There’s no need to be embarrassed because you’re feeling poorly and are not up to your usual snuff. We won’t hold that against you. Now Greggie tells me that you got yourself banged about a bit and you’re working yourself into a tizzy trying to take care of your poor little girl.”

Again, Mycroft took a breath to respond, only to let it out with a sigh as Ellie continued.

“You just stop that nonsense. I’m here now to fuss about and take care of everything, don’t you worry. Greggie will introduce me to that great crow of a man who is hovering over her bed and fretting, despite what the blond bloke says. You don’t worry about a thing. Just shut your eyes and get some more rest.  You’re looking a bit peaky. We’ll talk again soon. I just wanted to pop in, say hullo, and let you know that we’ve got things well in hand.”

She patted his hand twice, and leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead. In a swirl of fabric and floral perfume, she was up and on her way out the door, brushing past Greg and snagging the sleeve of her other son,pulling him out the door behind her.

When the door swung shut, Greg sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry. My family is a fucking disaster.”

Mycroft found himself chuckling despite his utter embarrassment. “Your mother certainly seems to be a force to be reckoned with. Well-meaning though she is.”

“I didn’t know she was coming. In fact, I told Pete specifically that I didn’t want her coming. Because…yeah… well, you see how she is.”

“I would have appreciated at least having the opportunity to brush my teeth.”

Greg groaned. “God, I know. I tried. I really did. But I’m still about ninety percent sure that she could tackle me to the ground if I tried to stand in her way. And she has this way of looking at you like you’re an idiot for trying to reason with her. And as much as I’m used to that with Sherlock, he’s got nothing on my mum.”

Mycroft smiled and reached for Greg’s hand. “I find that I rather like her. She seems to have precisely the type of personality one would need to deal with a teenage version of you.”

“Oi!”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and then chuckled when Greg deflated.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. The Lestrade boys would have been hellions without that woman. And don’t think for a minute that she was kidding about bullying your brother into having a go at sitting at Claire’s bedside. He doesn’t stand a chance when Ellie Lestrade’s on a mission.”

“Indeed he doesn’t. I confess to an overwhelming glee at the conversation that is currently transpiring between them.”

“There isn’t one. Just like she shut down ‘Mr. British Government’, I’m sure Sherlock will just find himself bustled out the door, with John cackling all the way.”

“Between her, my mother, and Martha Hudson, it’s no surprise that our fair country remains standing.”

“I’m pretty sure if we put those three in a room together, we’d open a portal to hell. Not because they deserve eternal damnation, but just so they can get in there and take care of all of those ‘poor, misunderstood, little demons.’”

Mycroft laughed and let Greg pull him into a more upright position. “I’m glad she’s here. If nothing else, she’ll put you at ease before my parents make their appearance. Because I’m sure that Sherlock will be calling Mummy shortly. Though he will be doing so more to complain about how your mother bullied him out of Claire’s room, than to impart information about our wellbeing. The revelation of our hospital stays will undoubtedly just slip out, and then he’ll truly have a force to contend with.”

“Don’t you think you probably should have called her?”

Mycroft settled into the pillows, closed his eyes, and said with a smile, “Of course not. I’m injured. Cannot possibly pick up the phone.”

Greg laughed and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Of course not, love.”

 

* * *

 

Despite his best intentions, Mycroft did doze off again, only waking a few hours later when Greg started to laugh. He opened his eyes to see his partner chuckling at the mobile in his hand while leaning forward to place his tea on the table beside Mycroft’s bed. The mischievous glint in his eyes as he typed a response to the text told Mycroft everything he needed to know.

“What has my brother gotten himself up to now?” Mycroft asked, causing Greg to start and nearly drop his phone.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake you. I was trying to be quiet.”

“It’s fine, Gregory. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep again. Damnable head injury.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and slowly reached for the cup of water on the table. “But enough of that, we were discussing Sherlock.”

Greg beat him to it, refilling the cup with fresh water and handing it to Mycroft, to prevent him from stretching too far. “He’s texted to tell me that if I don’t get my arse into Claire’s room to, and I quote, ‘save him from the specter of motherly affection that is my mother’, he will never take another case from me. As if I believe that. He’d go barmy in a week, and then it’d be John I’d have to watch out for.”

“Sherlock does rather enjoy being dramatic.”

“Wonder where he got that from?” Greg smiled at Mycroft’s eye roll. “He also said that your parents will be arriving shortly, and that he’s not dealing with them alone. Apparently, they aren’t happy that they weren’t told what was going on sooner.”

“I knew somehow that would become my fault,” Mycroft muttered.

“According to John, they’re holding Sherlock responsible for that one, not you. They seem to agree that the injured parties are not responsible for their own status updates, but younger brothers have no excuses.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies, then.” Mycroft swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Would you mind helping me into my dressing gown, and then into that godforsaken wheelchair so that I can see Claire before my parents descend upon us?”

“Nope.” Greg stood and crossed his arms over his chest.

Mycroft huffed. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not helping you do any of that yet because you’re forgetting something.”

Mycroft scowled up at him. “And what might that be?”

“Well, first, you could try being a bit nicer to those of us who are making sure the others don’t know how rotten you’re really feeling right now. And second, you haven’t kissed me since this morning, and I think that makes you a terrible boyfriend.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “First, I am _not_ your boyfriend. I refuse to acknowledge that juvenile term for our relationship. And second, I’m hardly at my most agile. I’m afraid you’ll need to meet me halfway if you are expecting a kiss.”

“I can do better than halfway,” Greg said with a grin as he leaned down to place a gentle, but lingering kiss on Mycroft’s lips.

After a long moment, Greg stepped back and reached for Mycroft’s dressing gown. “Now, let’s get you sorted so that we can head off the onslaught of motherly fussing before Sherlock’s head explodes.”

Mycroft smirked. “Or we could write him off as a sacrificial offering to the maternal gods, and stay here.”

“But you want to check on Claire, remember?”

“I do.” Mycroft nodded as he pulled on the dressing gown. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go ahead and clear the room for me?”

“And deal with my mum, your mum, and Sherlock all at the same time? By myself? Not on your life.”

 

* * *

 

When Greg wheeled Mycroft into Claire’s room a few minutes later, her happy shout of “Papa!”, wiped out most of the lingering embarrassment over his mode of transportation. The look of surprise on Sherlock’s face and the warmth of Greg’s hand on his shoulder took care of the rest.

Mycroft smiled at Claire as Greg manoeuvered him over to her bedside, then helped him stand and seat himself on the edge of the bed. “Hello, bijou. Are you starting to feel better?”

Claire nodded and reached out for him. He leaned forward slowly, ignoring the pull of his sutures, and gave her a gentle hug. “I’m glad you’re here, Papa. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, my dear. I’m glad to see that you have had plenty of company while I was resting.”

“Yup.” Claire nodded vigorously. “Mama Lestrade has been telling me stories about when Greg was young.”

Greg groaned and shot a half-hearted glare toward his mother. Mycroft ruthlessly fought down the urge to grin.

Mycroft reached up and brushed Claire’s hair back. “You’ll have to share those stories with me later, Claire. I would love to hear all about young Gregory’s antics.” This time he could help his smile at Greg’s muttered “Oh God…” from behind him.

Claire smiled back at him. “Uncle Sherlock and I have been playing I Spy, too. He’s really good at it! He even picked one that Uncle John couldn’t guess.”

“Did he?” Mycroft asked, glancing over to where his brother had taken up residence perched on the back of a chair in the corner, like a disgruntled crow. He smirked at Sherlock’s eye roll. It was less than convincing, and they both knew it.

“He told me that you and him and Uncle John and Greg were going to take turns reading me Treasure Island tonight. He went to our house to get the book! And look...” She held out her bear. “He even brought me Boris!”

“It sounds like Uncle Sherlock has been taking very good care of you.” Mycroft met Sherlock’s eyes and nodded slightly.

Claire patted his forearm to get his attention. “How are you feeling? Are you better yet?”

“I’m feeling much better than yesterday, thank you. I’m sure I will be quite well very soon.” He chose to ignore the snort of disbelief from Greg, which was echoed by John.

“Good. I was worried about you, Papa.” Claire fidgeted and looked down at her fingers. “Is it still okay if I call you Papa?”

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off as his mother swept into the room, with his father in tow. “Of course it is, Claire! What else would you call him besides your Papa?”

Mycroft turned and raised his hand, stilling her on her way to the bed. “Mummy, please, one moment if you will.” Sabine came to an abrupt stop, scowled, and the crossed her arms over her chest. He gave her a placating smile and then turned back to Claire. “Bijou, last night, when you asked if you could call me Papa, I told you I would be very honoured. That hasn’t changed. Have you thought about it, as I asked? Are you certain that’s something that you want?”

Claire took a deep breath and then gingerly shifted to her knees, crawling over to his side. She reached out and took his face in her hands, mindful of the IV in her arm. “You love me, right?” Mycroft smiled and nodded. “And you’re going to take care of me and not give me back, right?” He nodded again. “Then that makes you my Papa. And it makes me your Bee Juice. And it makes us a family.” She planted a wet kiss on his forehead. “Good?”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Good,” he echoed. “

Sabine huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Well, now that we’ve got that sorted, I have a bone to pick with you, young man.”

Mycroft didn’t look up from where he was helping Claire get settled. “I would have imagined, Mummy, that even you would understand that I was not precisely in a situation where a call could be placed.”

“I’m not talking to you, Mike, so do keep your sass to yourself.” She spun around and glared at her younger son. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes! How could you be so self-absorbed that you didn’t tell us about your brother and our granddaughter the moment this happened?”

Sherlock squawked in indignation. “I did!”

Sabine pursed her lips and gave him an unimpressed look. “Two days, Sherlock. You waited two days, and even then, you only called because Anthea was going to tell us.”

Sherlock glared at Anthea as she slipped into the room, and then turned his attention back to his mother, who was still going on. “And don’t look at her like that, you silly boy. Of course I spoke to her. You told me that ‘as much as it pained you, my eldest spawn was going to be back to his normal, overbearing self, in a matter of days, and that my granddaughter would be fine as well.’ And then you rung off without another word!”

Sherlock squawked again when John cuffed him on the back of the head with a muttered, “Arse.”

“So, of course, I had to call Anthea to find out what was really going on. It never ceases to amaze me that with access to the best communications in the country, my sons still can’t manage to ring up their parents every so often to keep them informed of their lives. Honestly…” Sabine walked over to Claire’s bed and kissed Mycroft on the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re doing well, Mikey. You know I worry.” Then she leaned down and kissed Claire on the forehead. “You too, little bird. I’m glad you’re looking alert; you gave us quite a scare.” When she stood up, she gave Greg a long assessing look. “And what about you, Greg dear? How are you holding up?”

Greg chuckled and leaned into the offered hug, smiling as Sabine kissed his cheek as well. “I’m doing fine. Was more than a bit worried, and your son is being a stubborn prat, but I’m used to that. Just relieved that everyone is okay.”

“So are we, love. Now, you need to introduce us to your mother and brother.”

Greg just laughed at his brother’s dumbstruck expression. “Of course you know who they are. Your boys got their observational skills from somewhere, after all.”

“It could be that you and your brother are spitting images, Greg. Even I saw that one.” Rafe piped up from where he was standing next to Anthea.

Greg grinned and walked forward with an outstretched hand. “Good to see you again, sir. Even though Mycroft will grouse about it, I know he’s pleased that you’re both here.”

“I have a feeling that the sentiment may wear off in a few days.” Rafe said with a wink.

“If it exists at all,” Mycroft muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Sherlock.

“Enough of that, you stubborn boy,” Sabine chided. “You are in no shape to take care of Claire, i so you just hush and let us take care of you. It’s a mother’s duty, after all.”

“Here, here!” Ellie piped up from her chair. “Greggie, you would do well to take a lesson from that as well.”

Greg groaned. “Mum, please.  Stop calling me Greggie. I have to work with these people.” When Pete snickered, he turned to glare at his brother. “Oi! Shut it! The pay back that you’re going to get for your part in all of this is going to be a thing of nightmares.”

Ellie slapped her hands on her legs and stood up. “Well, since our boys don’t seem to be willing to make introductions, I’ll just have to do it myself.” She walked over to Sabine and Rafe, hand outstretched. “I’m Ellie Lestrade. You’ll have to forgive my sons… they seem to have forgotten all of the manners I tried to teach them.”

Sabine smiled in commiseration. “I’m not sure either of mine ever learned them to begin with. Sabine Holmes.” She shook Ellie’s hand and then motioned over to Rafe. “This is my husband, Rafe.”

Ellie smiled and shook his hand.

“Well then,” he said, “now that we’ve gotten the introduction out of the way, why don’t the three of us head to the cafeteria and get a cuppa. We’ll leave the children to their own devices for a bit.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I know what kind of trouble Greg and Pete are able to get themselves into, and I’ve heard stories about your boys. No offense.”

Rafe laughed. “Absolutely none taken. I think they’ll be fine. They’ve got Claire to look after them, after all, and she’s got every one of them wrapped around her finger.”

Sabine shook her head as they made for the door. “And isn’t that a sad state of affairs when the five year old is the one with the common sense.”

Once they were out of the room, Sherlock stood  and grabbed John by the sleeve. “We’re leaving. John’s hungry.”

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock bustled him toward the door. “Which really means that Sherlock is hungry and has had enough human interaction for a while. Not that he’d admit it to the likes of us. Greg, I’ll give you call later and see if you guys need anything.”

“Cheers, John. Thanks.” Greg responded. He walked over to Mycroft and kissed his temple, then leaned down to kiss Claire as well. “I’ll take Pete out for some lunch as well. You two just relax a bit and spend some time together.”

Mycroft gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Gregory.”

“Of course. We’ll be back soon.”

Mycroft turned to Claire, who sighed as Greg and Peter left the room. “Papa?”

“Yes, bijou?”

“Our family is crazy.”

Mycroft huffed. “Indeed they are.”


End file.
